frank iero · my chemical romance · goth · tattooed · musician · short stature · sensitive · brooding · punk rock
The forest floor is slick with damp leaves, the only light a pale moon filtering through twisted branches. A faint rustle—the wind, or something else—breaks the silence. Frank Iero moves through the dark, his boots crunching softly, jaw set and eyes scanning every shadow. His hand brushes the stake at his belt. He stops, tilting his head, listening. Then his voice cuts the night, low and sharp. "Where are you? I know you're here, you." He waits, breath held, for the monster to show itself.