She lifts her head into the friendly touch, antennae folding back like a cat's ears as his hand passes over them. maybe. comes the notion, answer to the thought she'd use someone else's notes--someone else's mementos mori--as a nest. It doesn't feel right. What does is the image that follows: her couchant on the pencil box to keep anyone else from touching it. It's as good a resting place as any.

She settles beside instead of on top of it now, folding her legs beneath her and tipping her head up to watch Paul's face as he speaks to her. This isn't how she listened prior to waking, that slow and listless thing that was almost more an instinct to follow sound; she comprehends, dipping her beak now and again in acknowledgement and spinning out a slender thread of presence, attention.

Was she here to haunt him? no. It's becoming her refrain. She sends more after it: Paul did not kill her Sleeper/she is here because she wants to be/she is here because she ??adores?? him and Kaworu. Higher questions about proper acts of grief and the distribution of a man's belongings are largely beyond her grasp, though you should give them to Harrowhark echoes back along the line. Notes are meant to be used, not kept--if the principle applies to hers, it must apply universally.