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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5209 | 2024-09-03 21:37:17 | 113.39 | 98.3% |
| 4956 | 2024-08-24 18:17:07 | 105.94 | 97.9% |