I wonder if I can write this history, or if on every page there will be some sneaking show of a bitterness I thought long dead. I think myself cured of all spite, but when I touch pen to paper, the hurt of a boy bleeds out with the sea-spawned ink, until I suspect each carefully formed black letter scabs over some ancient scarlet wound.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2171 | 2024-08-30 02:24:06 | 73.31 | 97.1% |
| 1003 | 2024-07-17 07:43:28 | 75.58 | 97.1% |