“Maybe,” in a thoughtful way, letting her gaze wander (catch, linger-- move on) what's visible, the sheer variety. “If it is to my sensibility...I'll never know if I do not try, no? Hm?”

A life's philosophy boiled down to its simplest parts. Try it; see. Maybe you'll like it. She shrugs in and out of mortal lives like she's trying on dresses, twisting this way and that in the mirror; is this really me? Is this the one?

Try it; what's the worst that could happen?

She can always buy another skirt.