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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1739 | 2024-08-25 10:11:59 | 120.42 | 98.4% |
| 1342 | 2024-06-07 22:07:48 | 110.51 | 97.6% |