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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 473 | 2025-02-08 16:17:54 | 66.59 | 95.3% |
| 458 | 2024-03-10 15:20:46 | 61.56 | 94.3% |