It is not as though she does not LOVE him, this boy she has wrapped in webs { but he was corruptible far before he came to her -- she merely sharpened it into something that could be used } and who is currently pressing fervent kisses to her collarbone. Her left, of course, for she shall not reveal the MARK -- she would rather die than let him see, lest that kindness summon questions, concerns, are you alright?. For she is not deserving of such goodness, not when her soul is SPOKEN FOR { and not by the good Lord, no }. She loves him, in some way that is different, from how she loves Ciel, for Ciel is all protection and worry and patience, and softness, and being careful. There is NONE of that with him -- he is as dangerous as she, all sharp edges, wading through the MURK alongside her. He does not need her protection.
{ she is not sure why he started kissing her; or if she started kissing him. she is less sure, yet, that such matters at all. }
And she does not have to be gentle. She does not have to be delicate, and Lizzie gives way to Elizabeth, for just a MOMENT as she pulls from his lips and kisses him, instead, eyelids and lips and collar and chest and LOWER still. She shall hate herself tomorrow, and they shall continue with their constructed smiles and pretend as though naught has occurred, both as RADIANT and PURE { ha, ha, ha } as ever.
But for now, as she is so good at doing, she pretends. And she { FORGETS }.