A circuit tester does not admire a board; he probes it in order until it confesses. Frames deserve the same respect. The desk reads every generation in five passes, and a frame that fails an early pass never gets the later ones.
Pass one and two: the face, the hands
Is she unmistakably the muse — same face the power sheet describes? Then the hands: assigned, occupied, plausible. Most failed frames die here, in under five seconds, and that is the system working: cheap refusals, early.
Pass three and four: light and edges
Does the light agree with itself — one source, consistent shadows, no glow from nowhere? Then the edges: hair against background, lace against skin, the places generators smear when they are guessing.
Pass five: the story
Only a frame that survives inspection earns the aesthetic question: does it say something? A technically clean frame with nothing to say is a draft in a good suit. Keep the standard in that order — confession first, beauty second — and your library fills with frames that deserved their finishing credits.