Velvet cloak unfurls, Thorns guard a sweet scented heart, Love's blush in the vase.

Silent keepers of secrets and treasures, stitched into cloth, where stray coins and lint gather like whispers in a crowded room.

I move through rivers, wires, and days, unseen, yet guiding countless ways.

Some consider me beautiful, others ugly. I'm a permanent reminder of harm but also of survival. My lips are sealed yet still tell stories - sometimes comedic, sometimes horrific, and occasionally both. I can't be truly bought nor borrowed, only earned. Sometimes I'm the most visible when I'm invisible.

This is the last one. I don't have any more patience nor things to write. What am I?