I can be found in a deep underground place, smothered in my dark friend’s cold embrace. I’ve sparked imaginations, I’ve made people squeal, but at the end of the day, I’m still not real. What am I?

I have no face, yet nonetheless I watch with two bright eyes: one that blinks with every month and one that never dies. I often shroud myself in grey and mourn for those who sleep; my tears and and cries of anguish flow as often as I weep.

Feed me to fire and I'll melt down your knife. Eat me or quench my thirst, I might save your life.

First I soared, now I dip. Now I save a clever quip. I made displays above the thatch, Once I flapped, now I scratch.

I have no feet, yet I move with grace, I touch your skin but leave no trace. I sing with whispers, soft or loud, I dance unseen, yet shape a cloud.