I am Florence Harrison. This page tells you plainly what happens when you write to me or wander through marchforourlivespetition.com. Short version inside the long one: I collect little, I share nothing, I delete on request.
What lands in my inbox
Your name, your email and your words when you use the contact page or write me directly. Comments leave the same trail plus routine spam-check marks. I never ask for passwords, addresses or account details, so leave those out of every message.
What the counter sees
Nameless tallies only. Which guides get read, how long visitors stay, what browser knocked. I use these counts to decide what to write next Friday. No names attach to these numbers, and I like it that way.
Notes about cookies
A few cookies keep the lights on. They remember dismissed notices and keep spam filters sharp. Block them and the site still reads fine, though some corners may look plainer than intended.
Why I keep anything at all
- To answer your letter and fix numbers you prove wrong.
- To learn which corners of Azeroth need fresh guides.
- To keep bots out of the comments so readers can talk in peace.
That is the whole list. No profiles, no trading, no newsletters you never joined. One letter earns one answer.
Who else touches it
Nobody buys it because nothing is for sale. My host stores the files so pages load. Spam filters scan comments so bots stay outside. Written law gets obeyed when it arrives in writing, and I tell you whenever the law lets me tell.
When this page changes
I edit here when my habits change. The date moves and the wording stays plain. Reading on means you accept the current version.
Ask me anything
Deletion requests and plain questions both go to info@marchforourlivespetition.com with the subject Privacy. I confirm deletions within a week.
Comments live in public
Comments sit under posts for everyone to read. Write them like a tavern wall, not a whisper. I trim spam and cruelty, nothing else. Ask and your words come down with the thread intact.
Backups and their lifespan
Backups roll every few weeks and older copies fade on their own. Nothing I keep sits longer than its reason. Ask and I point at the exact shelf your words rest on.
Lines I never cross
Nothing here is for sale. No lists change hands. No pixels follow you home. The site funds itself through play, not through you.