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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4233 | 2024-09-03 14:08:57 | 72.99 | 97.1% |
| 3655 | 2024-02-02 18:12:53 | 77.61 | 98.3% |