Tanizaki sat perched on the steps of a library entrance, holding a copy of his book — 'Naomi'. A book of perverse fantasy, no doubt, but why hide it? The world could judge, condemn, or be mesmerized - he cared little. His truth was his own.

With a cynical smirk, he turned the page, his velvet-smooth fingers caressing the papers. "How utterly delightful! Even after all these years, reading it feels as if I had just written it~"

Suddenly, he slammed the book shut. "..Are you stalking me?"