URSA:
✹ STORY ✹
July 0f 2013 - December of 2016
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Simon Dorriety meets a girl named Valentine de Carvalho. His community college burns down. She disappears. He gets an acceptance letter to a private school in Washington with suspicious full pay. He meets a group of scholars there. It is truly odd how quickly his life falls apart and is put back together incorrectly, everything always a moment away from collapsing once more. There is something terrifyingly weird about the group he's now surrounded by: five of the most accomplished academics under the watch of a headmaster who none have ever even met.
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"I suppose that can be said about many tragic Greats: Richard Dadd, Richard E. Byrd, even Socrates. Not that I'm anything like them, or a Great at all-- I'm only myself; a second-generation Irish immigrant, an only child with a penchant for poetry about sad chain-smokers. And the others-- the Holy Trinity-- were so alien to me in their ways that the fact of my own inadequacy was only amplified in their presence. Enigmatic and quite peculiar, messiahs in their own right, elusive and scholarly and inhuman; all are phrases that could probably describe them, but I do believe that to put any description to them does them a great disservice. They were unknowable, and this-- paralyzed in my fear at being found-- is the price I must pay for trying to defy what is now so clearly a natural law. Though this saga began, I suppose, with my very conception more than anything. I do believe that I was ultimately doomed from the start."
July 0f 2013 - December of 2016
✹✹✹✹✹✹
Simon Dorriety meets a girl named Valentine de Carvalho. His community college burns down. She disappears. He gets an acceptance letter to a private school in Washington with suspicious full pay. He meets a group of scholars there. It is truly odd how quickly his life falls apart and is put back together incorrectly, everything always a moment away from collapsing once more. There is something terrifyingly weird about the group he's now surrounded by: five of the most accomplished academics under the watch of a headmaster who none have ever even met.
✹✹✹✹✹✹
"I suppose that can be said about many tragic Greats: Richard Dadd, Richard E. Byrd, even Socrates. Not that I'm anything like them, or a Great at all-- I'm only myself; a second-generation Irish immigrant, an only child with a penchant for poetry about sad chain-smokers. And the others-- the Holy Trinity-- were so alien to me in their ways that the fact of my own inadequacy was only amplified in their presence. Enigmatic and quite peculiar, messiahs in their own right, elusive and scholarly and inhuman; all are phrases that could probably describe them, but I do believe that to put any description to them does them a great disservice. They were unknowable, and this-- paralyzed in my fear at being found-- is the price I must pay for trying to defy what is now so clearly a natural law. Though this saga began, I suppose, with my very conception more than anything. I do believe that I was ultimately doomed from the start."
