She is wearing a yellow dress with an anachronistic bow at the rear, the edges of which can be seen bouncing with a gentle buoyancy with each of her steps. People walk around her as she makes her way down the sidewalk but there is no manifest annoyance on their faces as they do so. She is gracefully parting a sea without disrupting the current.
The yellow of the dress is only a touch darker than the tan whiteness of her skin. She has the appearance of wealth with none of the pretension. Hers is a manner of repose not often seen on these streets and less often respected by the proletariat.
It is clear she is not of this world. Yes, earthly matter conspired to make her so but the plane on which she exists does not run parallel with reality so much as it begrudgingly intersects it at certain but random points. A glance away or even a blink and she will be gone, having transcended your world once again.