A drawing on paper.
Her voice.
A finished film.
Your kid tells you a story. She always does. This one gets a title card, a narrator, captions that light up word by word, and a credit at the end that says she wrote it. The character is the drawing she already made.
Four films by one eight year old.
Every one of these came out of a story Maya told out loud and a drawing she made on paper. Nothing here is a mockup. Play them with the sound on.
Three things happen. Then it is done.
She tells the story.
Out loud, the way she tells it at dinner. Restarts and invented names are fine. Those are the parts that make it hers.
The drawing becomes the character.
Not a reference, not an inspiration. The thing she drew is cut out and used to build every single shot, so the character never changes face.
You get a film.
Title card, narration, captions that light up on the word being said, and a credit with her name on it. Yours to keep and send to grandparents.
The story is already good. It just evaporates.
Kids make up stories constantly and almost none of them survive the day. You laugh, you say that is amazing, and by bath time it is gone. Nobody wrote it down, because writing it down is work and the moment has passed.
The temptation, once a computer is involved, is to make the story better. Fix the grammar. Give the character an arc. Swap the word she invented for a real one. Every one of those improvements deletes the reason the film was worth making.
So this thing is built to refuse. The narration may be punctuated and split across shots. It may not be rewritten, and it may not be upgraded. If a model returns a version that swapped her words for better ones, the film does not get made until it tries again. That check runs on every single film, and it is the strictest rule in the entire product.
The rambling list in the middle of the dolphin film, where she names every whale she can think of and nothing happens for forty words, is not a flaw that survived. It is five separate shots, made on purpose, because that is what she said.
When did you last hear a story your kid made up, twice?
Before you leave your email.
Can't the Gemini app already animate my kid's drawing?+
Yes, and it does it well. That is one drawing, moving. This is different work: it takes the story she told, splits it into fifteen or so shots, keeps her character recognisably the same person in every one of them, narrates it in her words, syncs captions to the audio and hands you a finished film with a credit on the end. If all you want is a drawing that wiggles, use Gemini. It is free.
Do you keep my child's voice?+
No. The recording is transcribed on our machine and deleted in the same job, before anything else runs. It is never stored, never cloned, never used to train anything. The voice you hear in the film is a synthetic narrator. This is the rule the code enforces first, not a promise in a policy.
Does it change what she actually said?+
It may add punctuation and decide where one shot ends and the next begins. It may not rewrite her. Every generated script is scored against her transcript before a single picture is made, and any invented name she used has to survive intact or the script is thrown away and regenerated. Blorptus stays Blorptus.
When can I use it?+
Not yet, and we would rather say so than fake a signup flow. The film pipeline works, which is what the four films above are. The website around it is being built now. Leave your email and you get one message when it opens, from a person.
What will it cost?+
Undecided, honestly. We know roughly what one film costs us to make but we have not measured it properly yet, and pricing before measuring is how you end up with a number you have to walk back. It will not be a subscription that quietly bills you for a thing your kid stopped using in March.
One email, when it opens.
No newsletter, no launch sequence, no countdown. One message that says it is ready, and that is the entire plan for your inbox.