You watch the two boys turned satyrs run in shame into the Satyr Glade, their souls lost forever.
"There is truly no death for a satyr," says Ms. Yannatou, "although their bodies will become every day more of a part of their natural realm. The distinction between where they are and who they are will become more blurred as time goes gy." She goes on explaining the metaphysics that pertain to the fate of the two boys, which sound increasingly fascinating and horrifying as she carries on. The Satyr Glade is apparently a living, immortal organism, itself. Like Tartarus, it is both a god and a place. Satyrs lose a little of their souls every time they give in again to the impulse to rut, and the bodies leftover first become goats: as base, bleating animals eternally trapped in cycles of desire and giving in to desire, they rut and are rutted furiously by multiple satyrs at once for as much as centuries, and ultimately, they become tree roots, which are used helplessly as sex toys until, after millennia, they ossify. Their souls are eaten alive.
You furiously scratch down every note. Always having been a good student, you are determined to get the best grade in the class. It is not just about getting the grade, though. You are obsessed with knowing everything. You only took this class to make it all the more possible that you will come to know everything, your mind fattening and growing into a vast storehouse of knowledge.
At some point, your pen flies across the room as you lose your grip on it, and your hands clench furiously at the desk as your eyes focus more and more on your teacher, taking in everything she says into your attentive ears. You become smug and certain of your own knowledge. How much smarter you are than others, you think.
You realize that you are becoming a sphinx!