Puisque c’est comme ça je vais faire un opéra toute seule

Ever since Anya turned 12, people have looked at her differently. Anya is too intense: she laughs too hard, she cries too hard. She changes her hair color every week and her plans for the future every month. When she told her music class that she wanted to write an opera, the headmistress explained that there's no such thing as a great composer. But for Anya, music is her mother tongue. It's her father's violin, her mother's piano, her grandfather Vasya's Russian songs. Our story begins with a great deal of anger. A child?s anger that makes doors slam and walls shake. A Russian anger. Full of even older angers.