Crossover

The middle-aged woman focused on the ticking compass, the silver needle endlessly turning with each second across all five points. Underneath the folds of a thick brown coat, she languished on the large chair, her legs crossed as she rested her elbow against the armrest and held the compass in the other hand against her lap. 

The loud ticks went on, distinct against the moot silence of the bright lounge.

Two women—humans—were seated facing each other on one of the other sofa, frozen in time. They were of nobility and their wealth spoke volumes from the lush red carpets to the large silver-brimmed windowsills upheld against sturdy finished walls.

After a few painstakingly long seconds and loud clicks, the needle finally stopped at the fifth point, the letter 'R' shifting from its silver hue to a rusty brown.