"There is something vaguely cult-like about the Chantry, though," she points out with a small smile of her own, but takes the form without hesitation. "Though maybe all forms of organised religion are."

After a shrug, she casts her gaze over the form, a knot forming in her stomach. Emergency contact? Funeral rites of preference? God, she's going to die here. Assuming she hasn't already died, and this is just her soul manifesting into Thedas - but no, why would she have died, the war was over.

Deep breaths. Stephen Strange is being laissez-faire about the form, and therefore she must follow his example. Pure pragmatism now, mental breakdown later while in quarantine.

"I'm assuming I'll have to refill this as it changes?" she asks, writing her quick answers already.