Mo Folchart picked out a book from his large collection and read the title on the leather bound spine. Inkheart (by Cornelia Funke). He loved this book. He brought it over to his wife, Teresa. His daughter, Meggie, slept peacefully in her crib. "Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain." Mo began reading in his strong, rapturing voice. Teresa sat listening in a trance.
There was a noise behind them. Someone was in their house. Light from the lamp glinted off the steel of the man's sword. In one quick motion, Mo threw the book at the intruder and wrestled him to the ground. Mo thrust the man's face into the light and gasped, letting go. Dustfinger. It was Dustfinger. The fire eater from the world of Inkheart. Dustfinger scrambled away from Mo and dusted himself off. Mo swallowed, his mind in dizziness, looking for a reasonable answer. He heard a squeal come from Dustfinger, a sword point at his chest. Mo followed the tip up to the owner of the sword. Basta, Capricorn's man, was here too. 
Shocked to see where he was, Basta ran out into the dark night to seek refuge. Dustfinger, more bewildered, wondered if he would ever see his wife and children again. His pet animal with horns scurried after him. Mo turned to face his wife to see how she had fared through this all. The chair she had just occupied was empty. His wife was gone. 
In the cradle, awakened by the noise, cried his baby daughter. Mo rushed to her side and held her in his arms. He looked at the book Inkheart, which lay open on the floor where he had thrown it at Dustfinger. He didn't know how but he knew it. His wife had gone inside the book, in exchange for some murderers who have entered his world.
And it was all because of his voice...
~Ash
