It’s not the first time you went to that grove.

It's deep in those woods. As a child, you mind saw those woods as the haunts of kid-eating monsters and kidnappers. Some of your friends are still convinced that those who enter those woods, do not return the same. That’s partially true. Those trees lie under some enchantment, as you know all to well.

A simple excuse and careful lies mask your intentions and you leave. Curiosity drew you ever further each time, but now you’ve heard the call. This time isn’t about exploring and guessing. This time you go to join them. At first the woods are dark and quiet in the night. The path becomes overgrown and nature starts to reject the semblance of humanity.

The woods grow darker and darker, until the light changes, the color shifts and silence of those foreboding woods breaks. You arrive at the grove, the endless light’s already shining above the fountain. The scent of fire and fresh water invade your nostrils, the Revel is going to begin soon.

You walk to the fountain, and prepare yourself. The glass is left right were you left it. You fill it up and take a drink on the side of that small fountain, and wait in the unreal sunshine for the transformation.

The change isn’t traumatic, the fur comes first, at first just an itch, like you forgot to shave. Then it becomes more widespread, and soon enough the feeling falls beneath your notice. That sensation is replaced with a dull twitch in your forehead, as if escaping from the haze of the wine. By the end of the first glass your toes are numb.

Refilling the glass, and imbibing again, you’re aware of your ears becoming more sensitive, sharper. Clearly some of the nymphs and other forest creatures have started the rollick. You drink a bit faster, and look down, to see the elongation in your legs and feet.
In the reflection of the wine, you can see your forehead is sporting the beginnings of horns. They grow slowly, gracefully and inexorably, once complete will serve you well at the festival. You hear raucous laughter and the stirrings of lutes and flute pipes. By the time you refill again, your new tail is flicking, aching to join them.

Your feet have fully developed into split hooves, now your lower half mirrors the other satyrs at the revel. As you drink the last one, all the focus goes to your head. The horns curl out, powerful and serene, and at once complete. Despite the drink, you’re ready and willing. You step down from the fountain, steady yourself, and exhale.

You are just another satyr, one more to join in the festivities

Fantasy Commission for lostcat461
Photoshop
2016
~Age