Every sphere on this instrument is blank, and the blankness is a policy, not an oversight. The orrery borrows no world’s name, carries no label and tells no story but one: a small studio turning steadily around its own work. The moment an instrument starts naming borrowed worlds, it stops being an instrument and becomes merchandise.
The same policy governs the card. Her five lines name only what the studio itself decided — her age, her hair, her build, her face, her signature — in plain words that can be checked in a frame. Nothing on the card refers outward, borrows authority, or leans on any world but this room.
Judging follows the policy as well. A frame is read against the card, never against a borrowed image of how such a character “only” looks elsewhere. The studio’s standard is internal, written, and kept beside the instrument.
Blank spheres, true records. The instrument names nothing so that the one name it keeps — hers, on the card — stays exact.