[ It's a small miracle that Dimitri even manages to hear the approaching stranger, the voices of the dead drowning out most noise and most sanity. But somehow, he does, and the the line between his brows as he studies the handkerchief isn't disdain or even harsh judgement -- and if anyone should be getting judged here, it most certainly should be Dimitri, though his state of despair leaves little room for immediate critique.

No, what flashes across his face instead is genuine puzzlement. How long has it been since he last cried like this? ]

Thank you. [ There's still hesitation in his tone as he makes for the proffered item, unsure of himself. ] But... To be frank, I'm not sure how much a story could help... or if I should be distracted.

[ He can at least follow Nehan's advice and take deep breaths, try to school himself back into something resembling composure. But the pain and the tears? They never quite stop. ]

My apologies. I don't mean to make light of your kindness, but their faces, their screams... I must not forget.