There was a snarp pain like a dagger at your forehead. Blood oozed downwood your forehead. Thick and nasty, thick blood pressed forth from where two horns of medium length curled free.
“My dear my dear. Look at you!” Chirped the witch.
Words fell from you mouth in a messy fumble of sounds. Your paints begun to unnaturally rip and tear. Thick, shady fur sprouted but and down your legs, your feet twisting, snapping and malforming into hoofs. The fur was deep brown with hints of dark blues, much like the long curls in your hair.
“Why!?” You belted as fuzz grew and spread up your arms and chest.
You caved in onto the floor as the final changes made their mark upon your form increasingly strong form. Short, but wild sideburns. A stubby, blocky nose and long pointed ears.
It was done, and the witch was delighted with her new familiar.