[ His gait slows as he approaches, and Hannibal takes in the sight of Elizabeth covered in blood. The expression he wears is briefly sympathetic, maybe verging on pity, but he tries to school that part of it. Pity is something that no one ever likes to receive, in his experience. ]

So we were. The story we were told seemed almost a bad joke at the time. Certainly one in bad taste.

[ Instead, he shifts it towards kindness, and though it's not his usual ones, he's still as properly put together as he can be. He pulls out a handkerchief, and though it'll hardly help with everything, he offers it to at least allow her to clean her hands of the blood. ]

Here. For your hands.