effigy (слэш)

“Give me your eye,” Aemond says.
The dagger lies between them, a little thing.
Lucerys looks at it, considers the weight of it. Thinks about the heft of it in his hands, the tension of his fingers along the shaft. He is reminded violently of the last time he held a dagger like that, and the damage that he had wrought. He thinks of regrets, and retribution, and of apologies that had long gone unspoken.
He thinks of Aemond, and a day gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Lucerys thinks, and he thinks, and when he feels the air grow stale with impatience, he takes three quick strides forward and Lucerys—.
Lucerys takes his own eye out.