"The video. The one from the livestream." Raven shifted her weight, uncomfortable. "All the comments online, the attention. How are you… dealing with it?"
She'd been feeling guilty about it for days. The invasive comments, the speculation, the way complete strangers had dissected every second of their interaction. Raven was used to that kind of scrutiny, hated it, but was used to it. Annabelle, though? She was just a primary school teacher who'd knocked on a door in dinosaur pajamas. She didn't deserve to be turned into a meme.
But Annabelle just laughed. Actually laughed, bright and genuine.
"Oh, I'm not dealing with it at all," she said cheerfully. "I mean, I'm aware it happened, the children certainly made sure of that, but I don't really go online much. No social media accounts, no scrolling through comments. So it doesn't really affect my actual life, you know?"
Raven stared at her. "You're… not online?"
"Well, I check my email," Annabelle said, as if this were completely obvious. "And I use the school website. But Twitter, Instagram, all that? Never really saw the point." She tilted her head, curious. "Why? Is it very bad?"
"No, I just…" Raven couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "That's it? You just… don't look at it?"
"Pretty much." Annabelle smiled. "Is that strange?"
It was the simplest solution to a problem that had been plaguing Raven for years. Just don't engage. Don't look. Don't let it into your life.
Why had that never occurred to her?
"No," Raven said finally. "Not strange. Actually, it's probably the smartest thing I've heard in a long time."
Annabelle's smile widened, pleased. "Well, thank you. Though I can't really take credit for wisdom when it's mostly just technophobia."
Despite herself, Raven felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Still counts."
They stood there for a moment, and Raven realized with some alarm that she was actually enjoying this conversation. That she'd sought it out, even. That some part of her had wanted to make sure Annabelle was okay.
Which was ridiculous. And dangerous. And absolutely not why she'd come to this village.
"Right," Raven said abruptly. "I should go."
"Of course," Annabelle said warmly. "Thank you again for agreeing to help with the song. It really means the world."
Raven just nodded and headed for the door, trying to ignore the uncomfortable warmth spreading through her chest.
She escaped into the cool afternoon air with relief, only to find Arty falling into step beside her.
"You held up well in there," he said conversationally.
"I contemplated faking a heart attack to get out early."
Arty laughed. "Fair enough. They're an enthusiastic bunch."
"That's one word for it."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Arty said, "Annabelle means well, you know."
"I'm aware."
"She's exhausting, but she genuinely cares. About the library, about the kids, about making sure everyone's taken care of." He paused. "Even grumpy rockstars who just want to be left alone."
Raven shot him a look. "What's your point?"
"No point. Just an observation." Arty grinned. "She's alright, though, isn't she, Annabelle?"
Raven's jaw tightened. She thought about Annabelle's relentless optimism, her cheerful notes and homemade biscuits, the way she'd stood on Raven's doorstep at midnight in those ridiculous dinosaur pajamas and apologized for asking Raven to be considerate.
She thought about how Annabelle had defended her in the meeting just now, redirecting Daisy's autograph suggestion without making Raven feel like an asshole for refusing.
