The card rests on the empty seat because the seat is where this studio keeps its decisions. A character redescribed at every job is re-decided each time — by mood, by memory, by whoever is tired that day — and the decisions quietly contradict each other until the series shows two similar women instead of one. Written once and rested on the seat, the decision simply stays made.
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 on the seat, not against the previous frame, which may itself have drifted.
An empty seat and a written card: the whole constitution of this studio fits in that one arrangement, and it has never needed amending.