Carrie read aloud to herself and the listening room until her throat dried out and her voice cracked, and it was time to put the kettle on. She had never felt more at home, nor had the empty old place seemed more alive. It was as if The Crows had woken up, a yawning Sleeping Beauty from its bed of weeds, and she was its Prince Charming. Except some coward with a mysterious grudge didn’t want her administering that kiss of life.
boi-howdy, that's a concerning analogy
