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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7193 | 2025-04-13 04:35:03 | 155.25 | 98.6% |
| 5483 | 2025-03-28 21:25:23 | 140.22 | 97.8% |