A harbour light is not there to be admired; it is there so that everything approaching can be judged against something that does not move. A character card does the same work in a studio. Described from memory at every job, she is judged against whoever is on shift that day. Written once and stood in the lamplight, she is judged against a fixed point — and fixed points are what make drift visible.
The card holds five lines in fixed order. Age, stated plainly. Hair — colour, length, one habitual style. Build in two or three words. Face — one or two enduring details. Signature — the detail that survives a tight crop. Beneath them, the day’s line: outfit, corner, hour, light — the weather of the sitting, expected to change.
Paste the card word for word at the head of every prompt. Generate at the standard 6 credits, then read every result by the fixed light: does it match the card, line by line? Keep what matches, cull what does not, and let repairs and finishing touch only the keepers.
Weather is not the enemy of a series. An unlit coast is. Keep the lamp fixed and the weather can do what it likes.