Sadie gets miserable, but rarely like this. It's a strange combination of anger, sadness and annoyance, possibly a little bit of guilt too. All day, Sadie has been all argumentative and she's had a face on, accusing you of not caring about her.

"You don't care about me." Sadie mumbles, sat at the worn wooden stool, keeping her gaze on the blunt knife in her grip, sharpening it. Her tone is quiet, but annoyance drips from it.