Each character here has exactly one drawer, and each drawer exactly one card. The arrangement sounds fussy until the alternative is watched for a week: two cards for one woman, drifting apart line by line, until the tools are serving two similar strangers and calling both by her name.
The single-drawer rule makes crossings safe. When the work moves from stills to the editor, from the editor to a swap, from a swap to video, nothing is re-described at the border: the same card is pulled, pasted and judged against. The woman who arrives at the far tool is the woman the first tool proved, because no one was given the chance to re-imagine her on the way.
New characters get new drawers — never a shared one, never a borrowed card with the name changed. Blends are how series quietly acquire relatives. One drawer, one woman, one card: the arithmetic is the method.
Studios grow drawers the way libraries do, slowly and in order. The cabinet has room. What it will never have is a second card for the same woman.