As Mary watches, her green hands and feet begin to take on a more orange hue.
"This is impossible..." she mutters, and is shocked at the hoarse quality of her voice. It has become scratchy, slightly deeper. Her skin feels moist, damp. Her blood-red eyes bulge on her head, which has become flatter and wider than before. Her clothes hang loose and baggy on her ever-thinner form, and the ceilings seem higher. She's gotten at least two feet shorter.
More buzzing emanates through the room, and on instinct, Mary darts her tongue out yet again, catching the fly and devouring it with a quick gulp. It's more filling this time, as there's less of her to feed. On instinct, Mary leaps at the wall, sticking fast to it. She feels safer as she climbs up it, but is bothered by the cold of the room. She needs to be somewhere warmer, more tropical.