I’m long, I’m royal, and I’m held with pride, A firm little symbol kings keep by their side. I’m stroked, I’m polished, I’m raised when they’re bold. What am I?

I hang in front but I’m not a door, I catch your messes, spills, and more. In kitchens and shops, I’m often worn- What am I, tied on before the work is born?

In scattered realms I find my form, a picture's tale in pieces born. A fitting dance of edge and groove, together bound, I smoothly move.

I’m a witch’s ride-share and the tool for your least favorite chore.

What would you do if you could not chew? It’s something we all must daily do. How would you eat, what would you choose? What tool exists to chew for you?