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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 315 | 2025-06-07 05:41:13 | 55.51 | 95.7% |
| 286 | 2025-06-05 03:47:48 | 47.36 | 92.1% |