A ribbon marker does one humble thing perfectly: it holds the page so the reader returns to exactly the same place. A character deserves the same fidelity. Redescribed at every job, she is re-found by guesswork each time — a hairstyle drifts, a signature detail is quietly replaced — and by the ninth frame the series shows two similar women instead of one. The repair at this desk is clerical: write her once, on a ribbonmark card, and keep the ribbon on her page.
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 under the ribbon, not against the previous frame, which may itself have drifted.
A card cannot hold a character who was never decided. Decide her on paper first; the ribbon only keeps the place, frame after frame, exactly as written.