Unreadable

The following text is an excerpt from an unknown individual's journal. The writer appears to be female and calls herself a Celestial. Two of the names in this excerpt were changed with untraceable magic.

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I do not know how to describe it.   I have seen many horrific things since I was made into what I am. I have seen many great things, and many beautiful things, and many things that confused me.   Only twice before today have I seen something like this.   Even when I was mortal, I was good at understanding people. I could look at a person and see exactly what they wanted from me, from the people around them, and even from life in general. I could see what they liked and what they didn't, what they feared and what they admired, what they loved and what they hated. I learned how to speak to them, how to treat them, how to act around them, and how to make them comfortable or uncomfortable.   In short, although I feel the term is unfairly injurious, I was good at manipulating others.   When I became a Celestial, my skill only increased. Now I was more resistant to manipulation, able to see through lies and illusions, and exposed to more people with power and influence.   It was delightful, meeting the others and seeing how they worked. It was amazing to look at the woman who made me what I am and realize that I could read her like a book. It was surprising when I saw people more powerful than I with such clear and basic desires, well-hidden behind masks of charm and detachment.   But there were two people I could not read.   In my life, I have seen thousands of people, and each one was easy to understand. One a book of poems, one a sign declaring his intentions, one a child with such pure and untainted innocence that I could already see how quickly I could use her. Everyone is readable. Everyone is controllable.   Except for these two.   One was the Celestial of life. Life was not so much unreadable as he was indecipherable. He was like an open book written in a foreign language, or a sign with contrasting colors, or, perhaps, he was not a book as much as he was a painting, full of color and movement and action.   Life looked at everything as if he could see beauty in every speck of it. To a romantic, that may sound lovely, that he saw beauty in everything, but I could see the truth. He looked at death, at violence, at pain, in the same way.   Life wanted everything and nothing, all at the same time, and there was nothing I could possibly do that would endear me more or less to him. I cannot explain it any better than this, but he simply did not care for anything that could be offered.   The second person I knew I could never manipulate was the Commander. As I write his name, I watch the ink change. The Commander is an Unspeakable name, and even if I know it, I cannot share it on this paper, even to myself.   The Commander is quiet. He does not speak often. He watches his wife and he watches his daughter and he watches his sister. And in some ways, he is easy to understand, even if I write as if it is difficult.   Quite simply, the Commander stands in a room and is the most powerful person there and knows it.   Love walks through the room, drawing all eyes to her, laughing as if she knows all, smiling to tell you that she can take away all your burdens. She acts as if she can handle any threat without fighting, that her love and her light can drive away any darkness, that friendship and love can defeat any evil.   The Commander leans against the wall in a way that says he does not need to act or pretend that he is strong enough, because anything that could pose a threat to him or his family will be dealt with before it comes close enough to see. And someone like that, someone that strong, someone that powerful, was to me neither a book nor a painting but a statue that cannot be changed.   The two people I have described are two of the oldest Celestials, with power beyond imagining. Life, who can heal and create without effort. The Commander, who stares across a room in silence because he carries a power no one can see.   But today I saw that same thing in the eyes of someone I believed I could manipulate.   I handed her my bag, suddenly realizing I needed something. I left in a hurry, did what I had to, and returned as soon as I could. It was a moment, just a moment. I meant no harm. I meant no offense.   She was standing by the wall, calm as ever. Shoulders even, chin up, head straight. My bag was in her hands, in front of her skirt. Nothing was amiss.   I came to take it back, opened my mouth to apologize for leaving, to thank her for waiting.   She held up my bag in one hand and looked me in the eyes and her voice was so cold, so blank, so empty, and she said, "Do not ever expect me to hold something for you. I am not your slave and I never will be."   Her fingers curled open, her face still and unmoving, and I lunged to grab the bag before it hit the floor. I caught it before it fell more than a few inches, but by the time I looked up, her hand had already dropped.   I pulled the bag close, laughed as naturally as I could. "Of course you're not my slave," I said. "You're my friend!"   She said nothing, only gestured for me to walk ahead. When she fell into step to my right and slightly behind me, it was as if nothing had changed.   But everything had.   Because when I met her, I knew who she was. I knew what she was. A survivor. I knew how to talk to her, how to act with her, how to treat her, and how to use her. She was, for all the months I had known her, just like everyone else.   Yet in that moment, when she looked into my eyes and warned me against treating her like a slave, she was not a book, or a sign, or a painting, or even a blank slate, but something that defied all metaphor and allegory and simply was.   Unreadable, I said. All of them are, in different ways. Life was indecipherable. The Commander is ineffaceable. This woman is something else, something I cannot find the word for, something that defies all I've ever known.   I knew Life for only a short time. I have seen the Commander often, but rarely spoken with him. I will keep her close. Not to control, for I see now it is impossible, but to watch. To learn from. To keep on my side.   This will be an interesting friendship.