I'm Going To Find the Lost Loot of KV 55 and Then Join King Tut's Death Cult

visiting a mummy in the Yale Peabody Museum, 2013

Searching for the Lost Tombs of Egypt by Chris Naunton
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is the kind of book that I would love to see a large-format, sumptuously illustrated and thoroughly annotated edition of. To be fair, there ARE some illustrations and some annotations, some maps and some diagrams, but in order to fully appreciate the information and process it I would have needed a lot, lot, LOT more. And maybe I’m just a dummy and this book is meant for experts who already know where the Valley of the King is compared to where the Theban necropolis is and where the Great Pyramids are in relation to all that, but I don’t think it is. The cover is too cute to be solely for experts!

Even having to look a lot of stuff up and just wonder about other stuff when I was too lazy to look it up, though, I did get a lot from the book. I thought it was interesting that all the regular folks who buried their loved ones in shallow graves at the edge of the desert were the ones who got it right, because the temperature and the lack of humidity naturally mummify corpses buried in that manner. It’s only because the royalty wanted to put themselves somewhere special that they had to go through all that work to do manually what the elements would have otherwise done for them perfectly well. Like, even in the ancient times people were showing off their wealth by making other people work harder!

At first, I also wanted to feel sorry for the long-ago deceased royalty. Having all that stuff/symbolic stuff around their corpses was super important to them, right, because then that’s the nice stuff they’d have around them in their afterlife? So imagine that you’ve done your nice burial and you have all your nice, sumptuous things around you and you’re having an absolutely awesome afterlife, but then all of a sudden your shit just starts disappearing, because back on earthside some grave robbers have discovered your tomb!

Tutankhamun, who in this book is hilariously described as the Benjamin Harrison of pharaohs, probably thought he had it MADE in the afterlife. For thousands of years the bigger, better pharaohs were just walking around naked, all their nice stuff having been stolen or excavated already, while he had ALL his nice stuff. Every single piece! I bet all the other pharaohs laughed their asses off when one day his chariot just disappeared--poof!--out from under him, followed by all his servants, and his cool clothes, and everything else that made the afterlife worth living.

And then he never got any of it back, because his stuff is in a museum and he’s back on display in his tomb!

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Honestly, it all made me kind of wonder if the entire concept of archaeology, excavating these people’s tombs that they deliberately had hidden on purpose, then removing all their nice stuff and displaying it in museums all over the place when their religious practice was to keep it all with their bodies, is actually unethical. I mean, wouldn’t respect for the religious beliefs of these fellow humans require that you NOT unearth and fish out and display all their stuff? How far back in time do you have to go before it’s definitely okay to put a full-on person’s corpse in a museum?

It reminds me of one of my other favorite excavations, Spiro Mounds, and how one of my pet peeves is that we can’t get a good exhibit going of most of the properly acquired stuff (we can still see the looted stuff, of course--there are goods looted from Ancient Native American mounds in the British Museum!) because they’re Native American grave goods and so need permission from the people who make up their descendants, but we don’t know who the descendants of the Spiro Mounds people are so there’s nobody to give permission so we can’t display it. What’s the ethical difference between people whose goods we’re not allowed to display and people whose goods we are? Coolness factor? The fact that one indigenous group was a genocided minority, maybe, and therefore we should be a lot more careful with them now since we were so careless with them previously?

Speaking of unethical acquisition... here's a mummy I visited in the British Museum in 2023!

Ethical or not, I’m super fascinated by the stories of tombs of Egyptian royalty that we know should be around somewhere, but that still have not been found. And Naunton keeps ending chapters by talking about how such and such a place and such and such another place were thought to be likely spots for excavation, but then the archaeologist died or lost their funding or spent the rest of their career working on something else and those spots never did get excavated. Dude, just buy me a plane ticket and book me a guide who speaks the language and *I’LL* go excavating for these lost tombs!

My favorite extracurricular deep dive comes from Naunton’s chapter on “The Missing Amarna Royals.” In it, Naunton tells the story of the excavation of KV 55, including this VERY “intriguing note:”

“The coffin found in KV 55 was lined with several sheets of gold foil, which had become detached from the badly decayed wooden case, and were subsequently kept in storage separately in Cairo’s Egyptian Museum. These subsequently disappeared, but resurfaced on the art market in the 1980s, and were then purchased by two German museums. Those sheets that were part of the original coffin base--by now perished--were restored to a plexiglass substitute, which was repatriated to Egypt in 2001, along with the fragments that had once been attached to the lid.”

First of all: what the HELL, Germany?!? I thought we’d all agreed that you needed to be on your best behavior until the end of time! How does your museums purchasing stolen antiquities accomplish that?

Anyway, I thought that was such a weird thing to have happened, and such a weirdly neutral way to have put it--like, what are you saying by *not* saying it, Naunton?--that obviously I had to dive deeper. And the deeper you dive, the more interesting and weirder KV 55 gets!

 As in, there were a LOT of shenanigans involving its excavation. A LOT of shenanigans, and a lot of those shenanigans were perpetrated by the archaeologist in charge, who should have known better. So I guess much of the mystery surrounding who KV 55 could be, because we still don’t know, is because the archaeologists did such a piss-poor job excavating that they lost and destroyed a lot of important evidence. And then someone(s) on the team stole a bunch of stuff and sold it and that ended up in all kinds of places, and then even stuff in the museum got stolen and sold and ended up in all kinds of places? If you’re looking for your next obsession, there are a LOT of KV 55 conspiracy theories to invest yourself in.

So that’s going to be my next conspiracy theory obsession, I guess. And when I get bored with that, I heard that King Tut might have had a death cult!

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I Read the Wright Brothers Biography, Because Wilbear Deserves to Know About His People

Flying at Huffman Prairie, 2017

The Wright Brothers by David McCullough
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This deep dive that I took into the early history of aviation was always going to lead me to David McCullough.

If possible, I highly recommend reading an in-depth biography like this AFTER visiting one or more of the places relevant to the subject’s life, because I think it’s even more fun in this case to read about a place I know than to visit a place I’ve read about. I’ve never been to Kitty Hawk (although I super want to someday!), but I’ve been in and around Dayton to see Wright Brother sites like their bicycle shop and printing office, Huffman Prairie, and the family gravesite, and more, in my devoted campaign to earn my beloved Wilbear. You can also visit the mansion they had built for themselves there after they got rich on Wright Flyer contracts, but for their original family home you have to go to Detroit, because Henry Ford bought it and moved it there.

original 1903 Wright Flyer in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum

Henry Ford also, by the way, once snookered his way into the shed where a Wright Flyer was being stored and got caught making measurements of it. Nothing ever came out of that, apparently, but it’s still hella suss.

As an only child, and the parent of two children who love each other but lead decidedly individual lives, I’m fascinated by the experience of two siblings (and sometimes three siblings!) who lived their lives so much in each other’s pockets that a single biography suffices for both. They’re like the Sam and Dean Winchester of manned flight! Do you think they ever had a conversation about their relationship or their future, or did they always just automatically pal up in a way that never needed voice put to it?

And they seem to have automatically palled up even in enterprises that only really interested one. The printing business was Orville’s baby, and although Orville complained a lot about Wilbur not investing his soul into it as much as he himself did, there never seemed to be any question of Wilbur popping off to, say, run his own business or get his own job and leave the boring printing stuff to Orville.

Wright brothers' printing office in Dayton

Instead, they seemed content as life partners, living their lives together just as happily--and probably a lot more equitably--as they’d have been with romantic life partners. When their sister Katharine went off to Oberlin and their dad was doing his traveling preacher thing (the only part of the book that I found too much and too boring was Dad’s preacher work--boring to read about, and also irrelevant as neither Wright brother’s life and works seemed otherwise notably informed by religious belief), the brothers seemed to live contentedly together in the family home, each sharing the load in a way that apparently satisfied them both. Here’s an excerpt from a letter Wilbur wrote to Katharine:

“Orville cooks one week and I cook the next. Orville’s week we have bread and meat and gravy and coffee three times a day. My week I give him more variety. You see that by the end of his week there is a big lot of cold meat stored up, so the first half of my week we have bread and butter and “hash” and coffee, and the last half we have bread and butter and eggs and sweet potatoes and coffee.”

I guess they at least had sweet potatoes often enough to prevent scurvy?

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Okay, I lied. I did think the part of the book in which the dad is fired from his preacher job because he was unwilling to accept Freemasons was interesting and hilarious. Seriously, what was UP with Freemasonry?!? They really had better be secretly housing the Holy Grail or some similar nonsense to have been worth all of these conspiracy theories.

When I started the book and read about the brothers’ early years, I thought that I was going to like Orville best. He was so mechanical-minded, even more so than his brother! He was always thinking up ideas of cool new stuff to try! Just between us, he was probably on the autism spectrum, and would have meltdowns when overstimulated and then have to go off and be quiet for a while.

But then… I dunno, Wilbur just really grew on me. It started when he was 17 and was hit so hard in the face by a future serial killer that he pretty much dropped out of school and gave up on his dreams to go to Yale and spent the next two years housebound, the full-time caregiver for his mother at the end of her life. How can you not be sympathetic to that much clear trauma?

Much later, his personality really shone through in the letters he wrote home while he was in France attempting to demonstrate the Wright Flyer and make deals with the French for its production. He mostly worked, because dude worked like a dog, but he also saw cathedrals and museums and tried new foods, and wrote about everything in an unaffected way. This is my favorite part of those letters:

“I was a little astonished and disturbed the other evening, when I sat down to dinner to find my soup which was a sort of noodle soup, turning into all sorts of curious forms and even letters of the alphabet. I began to think I had the ‘jim jams.” On close investigation I found that the dough had been run through forms so as to make the different letters of the alphabet and figures, too! It was like looking into the “hell box” of a printing office, and was all the more amusing because every mouthful of soup you take out, brought up a new combination.”

Wilbur Wright ate his first alphabet soup, and found it charming. How could the reader, as well, not be charmed by that?

Wilbur also impressed everyone who met him in France with his unflappable courage in simply going about his own business to demonstrate his flying machine, not letting anyone sway or influence him into flying when he didn’t think the conditions were absolutely perfect. McCullough gently hints that he seemed to worry that Orville wouldn’t do the same when he was demonstrating their flying machine back in America, and indeed, Orville does also hold the record for piloting the first fatal airplane crash…

You can see the original 1905 Wright Flyer in Dayton. 

Alas, Wilbur died shockingly young, at just 45, and whether it was grief or just his natural self coming through without any curbing force from his older brother, Orville began to impress me less and less as he aged. First, it was just him, his sister Katharine, and their dad in the family mansion, but when their dad died five years later, it was just him and Katharine for the next nine years. One day, though, Katharine told him that she was going to marry an old school chum from Oberlin and long-time friend to the entire family, and they were going to move to his hometown of Kansas City.

And Orville PITCHED A FIT.

This is where I’m so mad at him that I can’t forgive him. You know that woman kept house for all those men for all those years, even though she had a proper full-time job. Back when Orville had that bad plane accident that killed his passenger she’d even taken a leave of absence from her job and gone to nurse him back to health, sitting up all night, every night in his hospital room to make sure he was properly attended. She was as invested in their business as they were, often doing the social work that would usually have been expected of a wife. And when she wants to do ONE THING that is her idea and belongs to her, Orville has a tantrum that frankly makes him seem like an incestuous creep and refuses to speak to her ever again.

Even when he got word two years later that Katharine was dying, he refused to go see her. He eventually changed his mind and arrived at her bedside just before she died, but that is WAY too little, too late. Wilbur would have NEVER!

I don't know why I'm smiling like that in front of the Wright family gravesite, 2025

It’s interesting to me that although the Wrights proved the possibility of powered flight and flew the first airplanes, our airplanes aren’t really descendants of them, but more like cousins. Their major insight of changing the shape of the wing to steer is the key to powered flight, but the way they did it, by physically altering the shape of their airplane wings by sort of twisting the fabric-covered frames, wouldn’t really scale upwards--it was more of a proof of concept. Now we use ailerons.

Other fun facts from the book: the hobble skirt was created in imitation/homage to the first female airplane passenger, who tied a rope around the bottom of her skirt to keep it in place while she flew. While in France, Wilbur switched out his regular Ohio suit jacket for a black leather motorcycle jacket. When Neil Armstrong became the first human to step onto the Moon, he carried a swatch of fabric from that first successful Wright Flyer.

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And here's the most special fun fact of all! Back when the Wright brothers were really starting to crack powered flight, nobody "important" believed them. They tried to interest the military numerous times, and kept getting back form letters that clearly indicated their original letters hadn't even been read. Word of mouth was spreading, obviously, because all you had to do was take the trolley over to Huffman Prairie and you could literally SEE them flying, but whenever anyone big and fancy heard about it, they'd dismiss it as rumor or lies or showmanship or whatever. It was part classism, I imagine, and also partly because the Wright brothers at that time, unlike the other people working on powered flight, *didn't* engage in any attention-catching showmanship. They just went about their business inventing powered flight and popping off the occasional letter to the military to see if they wanted to buy some airplanes.

Eventually, it was France who took notice, and France who invited Wilbur over to demonstrate his plane, and the French citizens who flocked to watch his demonstrations and waited patiently until conditions were just right and then LOST THEIR FUCKING MINDS when they saw it was real and praised and publicized Wilbur so hard that the dumb-ass Americans finally took their thumbs out of their butts and looked at what they had right there in their own heartland. 

But before that part, while the Wright brothers were still working out the kinks in their plane and spending every day out at Huffman Prairie, they did collect a small community of superfans among those who'd believed the rumors. One superfan was an old guy who ran the magazine Gleanings in Bee Culture up near Cleveland. He was THE superfan and would drive his literal Model T all the way down to Dayton, stopping every 10 miles to put more water in the radiator or oil in the oil thingy, just to watch the Wright brothers try to get their hunk of machinery off the ground. 

And then he'd go back home and, in the middle of his articles about bees and beekeeping, he'd write little anecdotes about what he'd seen! THIS is the guy who broke the news of sustained, powered human flight. The first story about the first sustained, powered human flight appeared in Gleanings in Bee Culture in 1905. 

One hundred and six years later, that same magazine, now shortened to just Bee Culture, bought a few of my beeswax candle tutorials, shitty photos and all. I just need to emphasize that I take MUCH better photos now. Bee Culture, I'd be happy to reshoot this particularly obnoxious set for free!

ANYWAY, that's how the Wright brothers and I came to be represented in the same magazine. The end.

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I Read The Writing of the Gods Because I'm Secretary of the Rosetta Stone Fan Club

My 2023 adventure with the Rosetta Stone!

The Writing of the Gods: The Race to Decode the Rosetta Stone by Edward Dolnick
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I mentally added this book to my TBR stack while standing in the British Museum gift shop two years ago, and it’s possible that I finally picked it up and dove in exactly two years to the day that I saw the Rosetta Stone in person.

I can’t believe that I waited so long, because it was such a wild and fun ride!

So first, of course, you have to decide if you’re rooting for Young or Champollion. Young is the brilliant child phenom whose mental gifts make him good at everything he sets his mind to, but who cannot seem to set his mind fully to anything. He studied, and then revolutionized, apparently every topic that interested him. He discovered, for instance, how the eyeball sees color, but then buried that information in a boring academic article and promptly moved on to a completely new topic, never following up or progressing it or even really bothering to market it. Some other dude sometime later who was interested in the same subject did a literature review and just happened upon the article in which Young had solved his research problem.

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So sure, Young did discover how to decode some pharaohs’ names in cartouches, but he moved on before he made another single connection. Hell, he didn’t even clock the connection that he’d literally already made--he thought that “reading” the hieroglyphs that way was just a gimmick they’d made up to enable them to transcribe Greek words!

And then you’ve got Champollion. Champollion was still bright, of course, but he wasn’t bright the way that Young was. Young’s brain could have powered the entirety of France if he’d just harnessed it correctly. Champollion, on the other hand, was dedicated. Devoted. This dude PERSEVERED. As a young man, he put his mind to hieroglyphs, and that’s where his mind stayed until the minute he died. The very minute, too, because he was still working on his dictionary on his deathbed. Champollion had a hunch that the Coptic language might not be simply an iteration of Egyptian, but an actual descendent of the Ancient Egyptian language, so he learned the absolute snot out of Coptic. He studied it SO hard and SO long, and this was back when there weren’t a ton of resources. Once upon a time, a visitor to the Vatican Library noted that someone had been marking up a book in Coptic with a pencil, making marginal notes and such. So they did some more digging and discovered that ALL their books in Coptic were similarly marked up! Come to find out that when Napoleon briefly conquered Italy he’d had the Vatican Library transferred to France for a time, and while it was there Champollion had sniffed out all the Coptic language books and read them, and nobody had noticed because nobody else was interested in Coptic.

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So. Are you rooting for the brilliant but flighty phenom or the dogged academic?

As for me, I’m a Champollion gal.

Dolnick’s description of this race is a really fun part of the book, because who doesn’t love niche drama, but my favorite part of the book is how he makes us understand what it actually is to read hieroglyphs. You’re obviously not going to go off from here and start reading tomb walls, but you do understand how to do it, and the idea of a pictorial language is just so neat.

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Okay, so you’ve got a hieroglyph, and let’s pretend it’s of a cat. The way hieroglyphs work is that yes, a picture of a cat could mean “cat.” OR it could mean a word that’s a homophone of “cat,” as in, “You’ve been out catting around.” OR it could mean a phoneme that’s part of the word for “cat,” like “C is for Cat,” which will then be followed by hieroglyphs that spell the rest of the word. This makes it a really hard language to learn, because you have to learn so many things that could be “cat,” but after you know the language, it’s a really easy language to read, because there are so many ways to read “cat!” It’s like how red means stop, and an octagon means stop, and “STOP” means stop. It took you longer to learn that each of those things meant stop than it would have to learn that just one thing meant stop, but now it’s so easy to know when you’re supposed to stop. And hieroglyphs will stack that meaning, too, by adding an additional hieroglyph that works as a determinative at the end of some words to specify an interpretation, like the silent “e” determinative that tells you the difference between “mop” and “mope.” You have to learn all those hieroglyphs and what they do to any given word, but then once you know them it’s much easier to read that word.

Everything that Dolnick explains is equally vivid. The Napoleonic Wars are fascinating under his pen, with Napoleon sneaking out of Egypt, the soldiers he left in the dust struggling to rebuild and maintain old forts, one of the workers finding a cool engraved stone in one of those forts, the general in charge falling in love with that engraved stone and sleeping with it under his bed, and that same general pitching an absolute fit at having to give it up to the British after their defeat because he considered it his own personal engraved stone, not France’s.

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The time of Ptolemy is equally fascinating. The rulers were Greek because of Alexander the Great--did y’all know that?!? I did not know that. The good part is that pharaohs stopped marrying their sisters for a while (but not forever!), but the bad part is that none of them even knew the Egyptian language, just Greek, which is why they eventually had to send out an engraved stone to tell the populace that they were nevertheless doing the proper Egyptian stuff even though they weren’t properly Egyptian… and they had to put the message in Greek, too, so they could read it.

What I really need to do next is find a good, accessible, super interesting overall history of Ancient Egypt, because the parts of the book that were a deep dive into the history of Ancient Egypt would have made a lot more sense if I’d gone into it understanding how far, for instance, Cleopatra actually was from proper Ancient Egypt: about 3000 years! That’s longer than Cleopatra to US!

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Also? Champollion wins.

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The Dragon Rider Smut Book Club Is Now In Session. This Month's Topic: Onyx Storm

I do NOT want to talk about that hockey score pop-up in the frame. I am so disappointed in the playoff results so far! Nevermind that my most beloved Stars lost to the Oilers, because the Oilers are fine and I'd be satisfied to have them win the Cup, but the Panthers are also in the final?!? The Panthers represent the absolute worst of the NHL, everything that I find most toxic about men's professional hockey. Not the players, because they mostly can't help where they play, but the awful management. Okay, I guess I *did* want to talk about that hockey pop-up, but now my mouth is closed about hockey until October!

I have begun annoying/entertaining my family by inserting Fourth Wing taglines into every scenario.

Case in point before Family Movie Night the other night:

A fighter plane without its pilot is a tragedy.

A fighter pilot without their plane is dead.

Welcome to Top Gun.

Catchy, right? And it works in a surprising number of scenarios!

Anyway, for my crimes I spent much of my free time over the Spring semester listening to Onyx Storm while walking my 10,000 steps a day, cleaning house (how are two empty nesters still making this much mess?!?), and sewing, the latter of which led to an interesting moment in which I'd forgotten that my partner was working from home and I was absolutely BLASTING my audiobook, the better to hear it over the noise of my sewing machine. He walked through the room on his way to make himself a sandwich, and was all, "Um, are you listening to porn?"

And then had to repeat himself three times because not only was I indeed listening to porn, but I was listening to it LOUDLY.

I told you after I read the last book that Xaden was going to eventually figure out some more uses for his shadow manifesting signet!

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I'm pretty sure it was Chapter 49...

Fair Warning: the following meeting of the Dragon Rider Smut Book Club is members-only, because there will be all the spoilers for all the books!

Here's my review of Fourth Wing.

Here's my review of Iron Flame.

And here's my review of Onyx Storm!

SPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILIERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILER

Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I’m pretty sure that Tiktok has damaged my ability to process information, because I genuinely really liked this book?

I mean, quite a lot of it was stupid, and there are too many characters and I refuse to be expected to have memorized the name of everyone’s dragon, and I am SO bored with Violet as the #bestest #specialest #mostdragonriderwhoeverdragonridedest, but I dunno. I drank the Kool-aid. I bonded with my captors. I collaborated with the fascist regime, and I enjoyed my time in Basgiath.

I was still annoyed on every page, though!

The most annoying thing about Violet, even more than her absolute bestestness/most specialness, is how she seems to just really feel all her feelings in her body. Every time Violet hears bad news or thinks a scary thought, we have to hear how her body responds. Are venin on the prowl? Well, then Violet’s throat is going to tighten in response. Does she have to keep yet another boring secret from Rhiannon? That’s sure going to put a pit in her stomach! Poor girl really needs several rounds of EMDR and a consultation with a gastroenterologist.

The thing that I really like about Violet, however, is her moral greyness. She’s actually not that great of a person, and I’m so into it! That BRILLIANT shit she pulls at Faris’ court is legitimately my favorite scene in this entire series, and I'm not sure why every problem is not being solved by permitting Violet to serial killer her way to success. 

The other best scene in the book is when the gang is on the luck island and fortune determines that Trager is shot right in front of their faces, and they just have to stand there and be all, "Ah, fortune... Cool, cool." These scenes have in common the idea that morality is inherently objectively grey in this world, variable according to who wields it, and if Yarros would just lean into that as her overarching premise instead of just a cool bit that she uses every now and then, the series as a whole would be so much stronger, more interesting, and more meaningful. Don't you feel like society as a whole, right at this moment, really needs to sit down and have a discussion about who determines what's right and what's wrong and where that puts those who don't agree with that determination?

Other than the fact that dragons are great and we should all ride them, I have to confess that I’m not actually sure why channeling from the ground is so bad? Yes, venin are assholes, but that seems to be about the venin, not the channeling, because Xaden channels and all it did was make him a sad, wet dishcloth of a man, not an asshole. And yes, depriving the ground and the people on it of their life force to the extent that they die is VERY bad, but Xaden can also channel from Violet’s conduit, we learn, so why can’t they all do that instead?

What I would prefer, and what would make me genuinely interested in Violet/Xaden, would be if channeling from the ground did make you absolutely 100% genuinely EVIL. Like, you can choose from Lawful Evil or Chaotic Evil or Neutral Evil, I don’t care, as long as that second part is EVIL. And Xaden can still be obsessed with Violet, even, after he’s evil--actually, I’d prefer it if he was, because that would be interesting! Just imagine him bopping along with the Scooby Gang, helping solve all their mysteries, trying to hide the whole time that he’s evil. It would be so good!

Since I don’t actually care about Violet/Xaden, I also don’t really care about the cliffhanger ending. But I DO hope Violet poisons someone about it, because that would be hilarious.

Also? The Irids are right.

Also also? Now there is a cat, and that is my favorite part.

Very last also: The Basgiath cadets are thirstier for patches than Girl Scouts, lol. I hope they DO pause their war long enough to commission themselves a Quest Squad patch!

Predictions for the next book:

• Violet is also somehow genetically venin and that’s why her parents offered her up to that death cult or whatever when she was a baby--it was to mask that part of her. But somehow she’ll figure out how to reveal it and then integrate it or whatever, and then she can teach Xaden.
• The venin aren’t actually bad. Maybe they’re just enslaved or something to a couple of bad leaders, so Violet and the gang will solve that problem and then everyone, everywhere, will be able to channel allllll the magic.
• I know this contradicts what I just said in the previous point, but my other idea is that Violet will somehow turn out to be inherently Good--I mean, isn't that what the best of the bestiness is all leading to?--and her union with Xaden, now objectively Bad because he's a venin, will work to unite the two sides of The Force to bring harmony to their world. And maybe then even all dragon riders will bond two dragons, a regular war dragon like always and a peaceful Irid that's always going to be talking hippie peace and love into their other ear.

Feel free to use my ideas, Yarros! In payment, just have Violet poison someone!

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