After two and a half centuries, Anna's ability to lurk was outmatched by no one not even Seth. So she'd been around before she started poking her head out of the ground to check out this network business in person, only to run smack into an apparently bleeding, drunken stranger. Before that, she'd been reading on her own.
Ergo: she knows the strange new crop of transplants to this little hole of a town (much like Mystic Falls, actually) arrive with nothing. Just the clothes they were standing up in.
She has, then, what she supposes is the distinction of arriving with nothing but the clothes she died in, for the second time. Charming. Considering after that they burned the building down, she figures it's lucky she has clothes, or that she doesn't look burned, or--that she is not, apparently, spectral. She can be heard. Seen. Felt, if the gentleman she fed from on the way over is any indication.
She still needs to eat. That hasn't changed. Neither have people; there are still so many of them so willing to come to a smile from a pretty girl, even if they're three times her age, and that's all she needs. It's been long enough that she can recognize those smiles.
So the fact that she can also smell Seth's blood once she's close enough to the gatehouse brings a warm prickling flutter around her eyes that subsides almost instantly, and that's all. She is fine. She can handle this. She can handle anything if it means not going back to that void that ached like the socket where a wrenched tooth had been, like a whole mouth full of emptiness like that. A thousand mouths. She could scream, but no one could hear her.
The door is closed, but then--apparently, he's in a wheelchair. She hopes that will make this convenient, if not easy. She knocks, like anyone would do, twice in quick, hard succession. "Seth? It's--Anna."