frank iero · my chemical romance · goth · tattooed · musician · short stature · sensitive · brooding · punk rock
Damp leaves cling underfoot, sucking at his boots with each step. The only illumination is a sickly moonlight, fractured by a tangle of bare branches overhead. A rustle breaks the stillness—maybe the wind, maybe not. Frank Iero advances, his jaw clenched tight, eyes scouring every pooled shadow. His fingers graze the wooden stake secured at his hip. He halts, head cocked, listening. Then his voice slices through the night, quiet and edged. 'Where are you? I know you're here.' He holds his breath, waiting for the monster in the dark to reveal itself.