Spun by a creature small and shy, within a cocoon it waits nearby. Though meant to shelter future wings, I instead become cloth for queens and kings.

I am a floor that no one built, a mirror that cannot be hung. I am born from the sky's tears but killed by the kiss of the sun. Step on me, and I shatter; walk away, and I heal without a scar.Though I am shallow enough to drown an ant, I can hold the reflection of every star. What am I?

Silent guide for the silver tongue, unseen hand that feeds words unsung. A screen of whispers, the speaker's friend, prompts the tale till the very end.

They cradle feet in warmth and snug, a mismatched pair often shrugged. They dance in machines, twirl with delight, cozy companions out of sight.

Measure a length Or have Royal strength By centimeter or inch The answer is a cinch