To call Lucrezia striking is to do her, and indeed the entirety of language, a disservice. She is, put bluntly, stunning, a creature of both literal and metaphorical fairness which somehow manages to strike any who see her into a state of awe. Such is her beauty that it seems almost to bely either surrounding or cladding - fine silks and ambroidery only serve to emphasise her features, but if one were to clad her in peasant garb, the simplicity would simply serve to counterpoint then just the same.

If one were able to rein in the poetical notion, even if for a second, one would report that Lucrezia possesses slightly above average height, a pale, unblemished complection, and deep, dark eyes which peer from between a falling curtain of golden hair. Of expression, one would report that she has the look of youth, but perhaps not innocence - there is knowing behind those eyes, and no small amount of it.