[With a slow nod, Cotton seems to consider those words. She closes her eyes and brings a finger to her chin, before eventually gaining a small smile.]

...I have an idea then, [she offers gently.] But I don't want to go through with it without your permission. It's your right, after all.

But where I lived, there were only so many ways to have a keepsake of another; often times dear, that keepsake would be a lock of braided hair, woven carefully in memory. If you would like, I can see about doing this for you. It isn't much...and it won't be the same as allowing them a proper burial I fear, but...