I'm heard by ears, yet soft as can be, A secret shared, between you and me, In shadows dark, or quiet night, I vanish quick, without a sight.

I am poured without a voice, Turned without walking, Layered without pages, And devoured without sorrow. I rise, yet I have no wings. I’m flipped, yet I never fall.

Riddle answer are muffins that believed in miracles and dared to dreamca

Heard in stories of the night, from the brush of leaves, a fright. Wind and canopy’s sounding fight. Card shifting, lifting flicks of delight. An actor named Crowe, just his first, sounds alike.

A treacherous trench, named for its users; a vertical entry for some lesser gentry- best pay attention if the cover’s askew, for else it might mean the last of you