A frame earns its place on the wall by not changing: what it held last season is what it holds today, edges exact. A character described from memory at every job gets a frame that quietly resizes itself — a hairstyle drifts, a signature detail is swapped — and by the ninth sitting the portrait is of a similar woman, not the same one. Written once on a cartouche card and set inside the frame, she is simply read out, unchanged, to every tool in the studio.
The card holds five lines in fixed order. Age — a plain number, and here a mature one. Hair — colour, length and one habitual style. Build — two or three words, no more. Face — one or two details that endure every crop. Signature — the detail that survives even a tight frame. Everything else goes on the day’s line below the card: outfit, corner, hour, light. The day’s line is meant to change. The card is not.
The routine is plain. Paste the card, word for word, at the head of every prompt. Generate at the standard cost of 6 credits, keep the best third, and spend on repairs, swaps and upscales only after judging — judged against the card in the frame, not against the previous portrait, which may itself have drifted.
A frame cannot hold a character who was never decided. Decide her on paper first; the frame only keeps the decision, sitting after sitting, exactly as written.