I hang by the neck beside a throne, wear coats of white in tidy rows. I split with sighs along my bones, serve, then vanish where water goes. What am I?

Harm will befall you if your use is too rough, will also befall you if not used enough. Pearly white, or yellow or brown, if you use me enough you will not need a crown.

You can wear me or hear me. Sometimes even eat me. I'm a collar for your finger or maybe a set of eyes for your front door.

I emerge from a tear that refused to fall, leading to a deadly point's formation. I may look as pretty as a crystal, but heavy is my potential to be fatal. So beware! Do not to fall for my illusion. Steer clear from beneath me to avoid misfortune.

Guarding a ticket of numbers picked, you cross your fingers and dream of What If. A sliver of hope to be very rich, will you be the next randomly picked?