Auguste didn't know the exact implications that doing something like this would cause, but he didn't really care. He felt like Tilda was purposely trying to hide from him, and he wasn't going to have that. He felt as if she and his mother both were hiding something from him. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked around intently.<br/><br/>The whole room was immaculate, but it seemed rather on the bare side when compared to the rest of the house. He supposed he was the sort of person who enjoyed to keep things simple and clean. The bed was small but comfortable with a bedside table resting near the head. The room opened into a closet that looked almost as large as the room itself. The closet was stuffed with an assortment of clothes that looked too neat and orderly to have been gone through any time recently.<br/><br/>There was also a desk on the far side of the room with a stack of papers on it. Curiosity took hold and he walked over to it. For a brief moment he felt as if he was spying on someone and then he reminded himself this was his room, so he picked up the papers and thumbed through them. His heart leapt into his throat. They were dated and they seemed to have all sorts of recounts of his life. But they were weird and jumbled.<br/><br/>"I must have started writing this when I realized I was suffering from ongoing amnesia.....Interesting." He seated himself at his desk and had barely started to go through them when he heard the knock on the door. He then remembered that Tilda was coming so he got to his feet and walked over to the door. He pulled it open and then pulled her into the room and shut the door. He imprisoned her against the door inbetween his arms and stared into her eyes. "Hello, Tilda." A soft smile decorated his face as he gazed into her eyes.