John could only describe in one way how he felt once Soran's words reached him. The young werewolf felt like a glass, fragile and shining. This little glass was placed on a table with a bright red cover beneath it. Then someone, thinking it would be funny, grabbed the table sheet, thinking he could slip it underneath the little glass without breaking it.
Sadly though that person had failed and the little glass had fallen down and shattered into thousands of pitiful shards. John had been both, the little glass that ceased to exist anymore and the man that dragged the table cloth, bringing his own doom.
You should have kept your mouth shut, you pushed it too much! His consciousness shouted in between his ears while he stood in front of Soran, frozen and ready to burst into tears.
