I was whole before I tore, a single skin, one ancient shore. Now I’m gone, yet still I stay, in drifting parts that move away.

I steal, I fix, I twist, I trade, a hammer forged from the tricks I’ve made. And with a sprig both small and slight, I stole away the god of light.

Often made of reddish wax, I bear a family's crest. Found upon olden letters of import, fraud prevention is what I do best.

The British one has an amazing collection of artifacts stolen from other countries

Compound word, etched to observe: Mystical inscriptions, beckon magic’s glowing call. Ancient text and symbols, carved in tablets standing tall. A monumental mass, aimed at glory or the fall. First word carves a secret. Second shatters glassy walls.