That resonates, and the small part of her that isn't burning with fury to stave off the cold horror of being trapped in another torture chamber so soon after the last files it away for future consideration.

She eyes the handkerchief dubiously, before glancing back up at his face. "Why," she asks after a moment, "didn't you want me to taste the blood?"

Despite his claims, she's not expecting anything approaching a truthful answer, but even a dodge or a lie will tell her more than she knows right now.