"You can kill the body but not the spirit." –Robert Lois Stevenson
When it was found, it was in disrepair. Bruised and bloody, not fit to move, a shameful bag of bones. A skinny little carcass, easily blown down physically, but never mentally.
It regained health, but never strength. All effort and work went to his soul. It was ignored, but always satisfied, if only to prevent illness.
A weak thing, dependent on help and the mind's manipulation. Could never stand alone, but always did. Always had to. The mind and soul earned higher priority.
This is Ciel Phantomhive's body.
Two down, three to go.