A doubtful wrinkle formed between her brows as she eyed Adeline in her peripherals, not quite having the heart to look at her properly. People were complex, frustrating, hard to predict, utterly exhausting. But "she" felt like a breath of fresh, cursed air. As if whatever Sinclair felt wrong in herself was reflected and felt...normal. There was just something in that sickly complexion and wavy blonde hair that haunted the Gryffindor, something in that juxtaposition of bluntness and unspoken communication that rattled her brain when she tried to make sense of her. Sinclair couldn't help but silently curse that girl for the torment she left in her absence.
It bothered her to no end. No letters, no contact, not a single note to say I am alive. A part of her blamed her own stupidity for not asking for the girl's address, and another part of her—the more prideful part—told herself that she didn't think she needed to because they had a connection, and to ask for something so mundane was below her.
Stupid.
And then Eldred. She didn't even want to think about him anymore. Perhaps they were never friends. The girl sighed silently, cold eyes staring out at the water. Adeline's words were compassionate, warm, deeply caring. But despite that, a part of Sinclair closed up. It was...frustrating, and she couldn't help but feel pitied. Such words weren't spoken in the Carver household. Sinclair wasn't the type to share much of her inner thoughts with others, let alone her parents. And, along with being relatively adaptable to most things, she did most of the emotional processing alone. In her parents' eyes, there wasn't too much of a need to talk deep about emotions. Having someone tell her the necessity of feeling not only reminded her of school counsellor sessions, but it felt like a huge neon sign pointing to her general lack of expression and her disinterest, the so called "flaw" she could not help.
"It's such a waste of energy to feel," she muttered eventually and turned her head to face Addie, "...You really don't have to do this. It's not really about trust," she lowered her melancholic gaze, perhaps accepting that she'd never have the kind of friendship where any and everything is shared, simply because it is not in her nature, "I just have to sit with whatever this is, and it'll go away eventually."
