Oh, so this is way worse than he thought it might be, great. As Cora stares at him, mouth open, Law is very determinedly looking at anywhere but him — the floor, the ceiling, Mary's drawings, the coffee machine. He visibly grimaces at the sound of his own name, and wills that he's not looking as embarrassed as he feels, but in truth his own face probably matches Cora's in colour.

"I told you not to say anything," he sighs out, finally, a non-answer that's still probably as good as a yes.

He's silent for a moment, before he seems to make a decision, his eyes finally meeting Cora's; now, the embarrassment is gone, replaced with something that's a mix of regret and determination.

"... I couldn't bury you, or give you a gravestone or a memorial that you'd have deserved. You — you died because of me, and I couldn't even..." His voice falters for a moment, before he continues, "So I decided to do something."

A whole lot of somethings, in fact: build a memorial around himself, ink it into his skin, pour all the love he had never expressed out loud into making sure Donquixote Rosinante's memory would live on, that his will would live on, all as long as Law himself was alive. He turned himself into a living memorial because it was the only thing he could do... and he wouldn't have accepted anything less.