Having been born without a mane, Styx was always envious of other "normal" horses that did have manes. He longed to know what it felt like to have the breeze blowing through the long hairs of his mane. He had seen a Friesian or two before, so he liked to imagine that his mane would like that - completely dark, just like the rest of him, with long, wavy locks. Instead, there was nothing. He felt bare. Naked. Exposed.

 

Ashamed as he was at the lack of a mane, Styx avoided most social interactions with other horses. While the others kept to the open fields, he preferred the outer edges of the forest. Beneath the dark shade of the trees he could effectively keep himself out of view of the others so they wouldn't have to look upon his "ugliness". Despite the fact that they seemed to accept him in spite of his physical abnormality, he was convinced that they were just trying to be nice.

 

He had been told from a young age that he shouldn't venture too far into the forest, as there lived a witch there that would curse him for trespassing into her domain. On the other hand, the witch supposedly had access to a magic spring that, if you were to drink from it, would grant you any wish. Styx desperately wanted to find this spring, because he knew exactly what he'd wish for. However, the prospect of being cursed was enough to keep him from exploring into dangerous territory. For a little while anyways.

 

Sometime after reaching adulthood, Styx felt brave enough to try finding the spring. What could the witch really do anyways? He was fast and he was accustomed enough to the forest terrain that he was confident he could make a quick getaway if it came to it. And so, Styx headed deep into the forest.

 

He seemed to travel for hours and on top of not even knowing where exactly to find the spring, he was beginning to worry that he might not be able to find his way back. Not to mention, there was the danger of the witch discovering him. He pushed these worrying thoughts to the side and continued to press on. He was determined to find that spring.

 

A little further in, he saw it; or what he thought might be it. Through the darkness of the trees, he thought he could see a faint glow in the distance. Lifting his nose to the air, he could definitely smell water. Strangely enough, the scent seemed to mixed in with various sorts of flowers and herbs - lavender, thyme, ginger, as well as a plethora of other plants he couldn't name, nor cared to name. He was only interested in the water, and he eagerly made his way toward its source.

 

And there it was. As he approached, he caught his reflection in its crystal clear surface. He allowed himself one last look at his maneless neck. Well, he certainly wouldn't miss it. He lowered his head to drink, but just as his lips were about to make contact with the water, he heard the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.

 

Immediately he tossed his head up and turned his head towards the source, ears swiveled forward and eyes scanning his surroundings. He didn't have to look hard. The witch was standing right there, no more than ten feet away from him. His first instinct, naturally, was to bolt, but something seemed to hold him in place. None of his legs would move at all. The witch was holding her hand up and shaking her head. She made a few tsk tsk noises.

 

"Didn't anyone tell you to stay away from here?" She asked as she approached him. Still, Styx couldn't move. It was as though his legs were permanently rooted to the spot. It had to be the witch's doing.

 

"Despite the warnings, you chose not to heed them," the witch went on. "That really is a shame..."

 

Styx was scared. The witch was only a few steps from him and she was reaching out with her hand. She was going to curse him, he just knew it. He closed his eyes and waited for the worst to happen. A gentle hand touched his muzzle. His nostrils were filled with the same scents he had smelled mixed in with the spring water. The smells seemed to calm him, if only slightly.

 

"You poor thing. You never realized just how handsome you are, did you? Well, maybe this will help you notice a little more."

On the word "this" Styx felt a strange tingling sensation began to travel up from the tip of his muzzle where his skin touched the witch's towards his forehead in what felt like a snake-like pattern. He thought he could also feel that same tingling sensation traveling up partway on his tail.

 

"There. Now take a look." The witch had pulled her hand away and along with it, the tingling sensation. She was now pointing at the spring, and when Styx looked at his reflection again, he almost forgot that he still didn't have a mane.

 

Where his face had once been solid, there was now a white marking streaking up his face in an odd, meandering path. He had to admit, he quite enjoyed the way it made him look. But that wasn't all the witch had done. When he swished his tail, he noticed that it was now a silvery white from the bottom to a little more than half way up. He whinnied appreciatively. He really did look handsome.

 

He turned his attention back to the witch, but she had vanished. He decided not to stick around however, just in case the witch decided to curse him with something else. Something he wouldn't like.

 

As he grew older, he would always remember the incident with the witch in the forest. And while he sometimes wondered what would have happened had he been able to drink from the spring, he never felt any desire to return to it. Over time, he had come to accept the fact that, despite being maneless, that didn't mean he wasn't handsome and that he couldn't stand out in positive ways. Eventually, he would also come to realize that the witch had never actually cursed him. If anything, he had "cursed" himself by thinking that without a mane, he was inferior in some way, when, of course, that was never the case at all. The witch had helped him see that. In a way, despite having been warned that she would curse him, in actuality, she had been the one to remove his curse.