I’m the fireplace’s favorite rug, where flames do dances, snug as a hug. I guard the floor from ember and spark, keeping things safe when the nights are dark. What am I?

I have a body but no soul, A single eye that sees no goal. I drink from silver cylinders to keep my sight, And only wake when you banish the light.

I sound like a pretty party-goer, and I can sound pretty in a tower.

Nature's alchemy in progress, a bubbling cauldron of scraps, where yesterday's leftovers become tomorrow's nutrients.

I spin my wheels or lose my drive, from too much strain, I can’t survive. In smoke or stress, my signs are stark, what am I that leaves its mark?