After the whole metaphysically messy business of reincarnation (and the even messier business of rebirth) was done, the resulting child grew up more or less as you’d expect.
Then, one day, after several years that consisted mainly of yelling and falling and were thoroughly satisfactory (if tiring) for all involved, the child picked up a new book. They felt a slight sense of deja vu as they looked at the cover, but they put that unfamiliar feeling of familiarity to one side and ploughed on regardless.
Time stopped. Just for a moment.
If you’d been watching, you would have sworn you’d seen the world pulse as a new universe exploded behind the child’s eyes.
And the only sound was the very distinct silence of pupils devouring words as fast as they can scurry across the page.
This was nothing special, of course. The same thing always happens when a child encounters a really *good* book for the first time.