She rubs at the redness, but that’s a mistake. The more she rubs, the redder
the skin gets and the more it complains. That ticks her off, and her sudden rise 
of anger speaks to her instincts. The change begins before she can stop it, 
before she’s entirely aware of having started; and once started she finds she
hasn’t the will to stop. Somehow, it seems written into the fabric of the night.
Fur rushes over her skin. Her body lengthens and swells. Her breathing becomes a 
rough, husky rumble too deep and resonant for anything even remotely human. She 
drops to all fours, and walks back into the center of the main room.