You see Cliodna look at you strangely, then she starts to laugh. You wonder what she finds so funny, and as you tilt your head questioningly, you feel the wobble of increasingly massive ears on your head. You reach up to find them growing beyond the proportions of the ears of a Sidhe, and growing furry. Cliodna points and shakes her head mockingly.
"Oh, the results of working with such imperfect mortal clay!" she giggles. "What do you mean?" you say, in a voice grown suddenly coarse. "You have given yourself to me, and you are mine," she said. "But it is beyond the powers of the fires of change to refine you into Sidhe, it seems." "Then what?" you croak. "The fires of change are burning away your humanity, and leaving behind the dross of the beast." You stare at her, unbelieving.
Her gaze softens, and something approaching sympathy can be seen there. "You cannot be mine as a Sidhe, but though you lose your humanity, yet will you still enjoy the immortality that I promised." But immortality as what? Wordlessly Cliodna describes a circle in the air with a wave of her hand, and gathers the moisture into a reflective disk in which you can see your naked form. It is a perfect mirror, but ripples course across its surface in pulses, and with each pulse, your image distorts like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. Unlike a funhouse mirror, though, after the ripples disperse, the reality of the changes persist.
You see - and feel, as you reach up - your ears become ever more tall and hairy. Another ripple clouds the mirror for a moment, and when it clears, your skin has greyed with the covering of a coarse pelt.
Your face grows comically bloated, then the swollen bulk of your nose and mouth refines into a muzzle. Your stomach bows out. You groan in a mixture of pleasure and pain as between your legs, there are changes in shape and an increase in size. What was once your manhood becomes not so much the shape and size proper to a man, but perfectly suited to the beast that you are becoming. Cliodna stares openly as that which had so recently given her so much pleasure is altered beyond her interest, or frankly, her capacity.
You jerk involuntarily as it feels like you are being pulled backwards by the base of your spine, and as you fall forward and put out your hands to compensate, you see that what meets the ground are not hands, but hooves. You look toward your feet and see that they have made the same transition, and you feel your spine grow longer as your emerging tail switches behind you independently.
You want to say something, to ask something, but you can only gasp as the changes wrack your body, and the gasps become less and less human, until at last what stands before Cliodna is indistinguishable from any natural born jackass - except for the eyes, which remain human. Inside this rough form, everything that defined you as a human remains untouched, and more's the torment there as every attempt at a subtle gesture is expressed as a donkey's kick; every word of protest a coarse bray.
On all fours you stand before Cliodna, a man permanently imprisoned in the form of a donkey, and bound to serve her whim eternally. You wait, clothed forever in bestial shape, to see how forever will start.