The table you find yourself on is dark and expansive. Under the bright glare of a light overhead you can't seem to see the Janitor, or the rest of the room, though you can hear him rustling about with some glass somewhere. Soon the shapes of jars full of herbs, spices, and things that you know not what they are are next to you. With a click the world grows dark till you readjust and can finally see where you are being kept.
It looks like a workbench. You see that there are tools mounted on the walls, though some are not what you would consider to be a normal tool, as so much a magical instrument that you couldn't even guess what it was. You notice the Janitor setting a cauldron next to you and lighting a small candle underneath it before adding in a mix of magical ingredients to form some odd concoction.
With a sudden jerk you are being lifted off of the table and are once again in front of him. His face staring at you, as you soon realize the sinister grin it bears.
"Well lad here we are, making up your first lesson at magic. Into the cauldron goes a select set of ingredients, in a special order, and out comes a very special liquid called "Contact Ink". What does it do, well it lets one make a permanently binding magical contract. You see that little spell your former roommate put you under is a bit trivial, except that he set your changes on a fixed point, if you never enter that closet of mine again, well get used to being a piece of cloth forever. I won't lie, I would enjoy that, but the alternative is a bit more fun. You are going to willing agree to hand your free will over to me, all of yourself forever. In exchange,, you get the pleasure of being owned by me, and someday I may turn ya back into a human, though you will still be mine. The alternative is if you don't accept, well like I said, I would enjoy keeping you a rag forever."
You find your mind racing at the thought. There isn't any way out of the situation but to choose your own fate. He reaches for a quill and dips it into the cauldron before scribbling on a fresh piece of parchment. After he is done you find yourself lifted up and placed on it, resting on the magically infused paper it reads:
"I hereby give myself over forever to the maker of this contract. I give him my mind body and soul, to exist as his for all of time. I will be obedient, loyal, and worship him forever. I will be his property to do with as he pleases."
The words hit you hard, and just as you are trying to grasp the situation the Janitor speaks.
"Well that's it, and it is your choice. I'll be back in the morning, if you decide the contract will vanish in a puff of wispy smoke and it will be true, you will be mine. Else I'll find you still setting here in the morning, still a rag. It is your choice, but you only have tonight to decide lad."
With that he leaves the room, and you are left in the dark to choose.