Two decisions hold the work together.
The halo is never in the center. It arrives from the side, from behind a ridge, from the grain of the paint. It does not crown the image; it inhabits it.
The fracture is only one. A brass hairline. A path. A crack that behaves like kintsugi: not damage on display, but a seam that keeps the field in conversation with itself.
I do not add a third event. If the light is displaced and the gold is single, the rest can stay quiet. That quiet is the style.
