Usually when someone says they need to talk; it usually means things aren’t going to end well. Thankfully, since she’s your Master and not someone of emotional value, this conversation shouldn’t be too serious.
“I need you to stop being my Minion.”
Turns out you were right. It's not that bad. It's worse. So, so much worse.
...For what reason, my Master?
You are obedient. Loyal. A Minion. It is in your nature to listen to any and all commands.
“You’re scaring everyone. Me as well.”
She averts her eyes as the words come crashing down.
“...and I never wanted to be a Necromancer.”
Spoken at a whisper, they sound like thunder to your nonexistent ears. Your face must have betrayed you. Or your Master was just that insightful. Takes a certain level of skill to read a person with no skin or mussels to show clear emotions.
“It’s not you, really! Your strong, taking down my parents’ proof enough. I mean it’s not every day a Skeleton takes down a Level 60 Head Priest. Twice even. And I can see you're really loyal! I don’t have to worry about you disobeying me.”
Her smile attempts to lighten the blow. Her words would have been enough. If they didn’t ring hollow.
“I just... seeing my life heading in a different direction, you know? It's nothing personal. Really.”
...
Surprising. You struggled seemingly endlessly to get here. Face tribulation after tribulation. One’s external or internal, but an obstacle regardless. You failed a number of times actually. Yet, you pressed onward. Obedient and devoted to the one who raised you in towards undeath. Changing, growing stronger, and developing every step of the way. Until finally, finally, you meet your maker.
Stolen story; please report.
Only to be found unfit for duty in less than a day.
...
And yet, you are ever willing to serve.
If that is your wish Master.
But it never occurred to you. Never even entertained the thought. That there was a very real and black order that would leave your Master’s lips. Enough to be soul-crushing to such a simple-minded Minion such as yourself.
She gives a smile. Full of pity. Discomfort. She doesn’t waver regardless.
“Sir Skellington, I relieve you from service. You are no longer my Minion.”
Master Isha has terminated the service contract with Minion Sir Skellington.
The string, one that shown bright and strong since you first arose, disappears. Fundamentally disconnecting you from your Master. Forever.
You’d cry if you could.
Silence falls into the room. You yourself simply sit in your cage. Without purpose. Without meaning. Without life.
The Mas-
...
Isha, stands there awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot. Her discomfort is apparent. You rest your hand, unable to see her as you stare into the floor of your cage.
Why would you look at her now? She is not the Master. She is not an enemy. And even if she was, so what? You have no reason to defend yourself. Not anymore.
You’re not even hungry.
Footsteps reverberate through the room.
Away from you.
It would seem that Isha was done here.
...
She didn’t even say goodbye.
...
The hollowness in your soul gnaws at you.
...
You haven’t moved.
...
You don’t think.
...
You just lay there.
...
..
.
Isha the N/A would like to establish a Minion Contract.
Do you accept? Y/N