Thor awoke with a yawn and stretched languidly as she wiped the sleep gunk from her eyes with her left hand. The new drugs were working--she had finally gotten a decent night's sleep. Thor felt refreshed. Thor felt relaxed. Thor felt rejuvenated. Thor felt rested.
Thor felt alarmed!
It was happening again. The narration. Thor's life was unfolding before her as a series of events with complex angles even she could scarcely identify. How was it that this person or persons unknown could know? How could they know what she was doing, what she was thinking, what she was feeling? Could the narrators see her? Hear her? Smell her? Clearly they could read her mind, her hopelessly twisted, helplessly demented mind. Perhaps this said more about their mental states than hers, but nonetheless, off topic...
Thor was frightened. And quite peeved. Who was this all-seeing, all-knowing being telling her story? How did he/she/it/they know that she stretched languidly upon waking? Maybe she wanted to stretch...linguini! Did anyone ever consider that possibility? No. They just orchestrated Thor's comings and goings and doings and sayings on a whim.
Thor knew she would have to take action, to rebel against the self-appointed gods of her universe. No more would she laze through her days as a complacent marionette. She would seize control of her surroundings to protect her livelihood from these intrusive oppressors. She would rise up. She would defend. She would take her little yellow pill and forget this whole mess, and all would be well in her world.
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