A thin smile, with little humour in it. "If I thought you were a demon, this meeting would have gone very differently."
At least, she supposes, that is honest.

"There was one among our number who had the first of those marks. When she wielded it, it held a purpose. It serves us to understand why and how people are pulled here, and what effect your being so branded will have - for yourself, and for our very world."

Her voice is low and steady. "The Inquisition is fighting a war, Lara. Resources stretch thin,"

(she doesn't grimace a little, but she is tired by that persistent tug of war that rages onward, between her compassion and mercy and all that she has had to become, to embrace, to craft the future that the Divine had wished for. Justinia had been concerned with national politics, however, and this? This could effect their entire world)

"But we will not force you to take up a blade or even wield a broom, if you do not wish it. You sought knowledge, no? We have that." Ultimately, though, Leliana shrugs a little. "The choice is yours. I will not force your hand."