I have a sole but no soul I have a heel but cannot walk I have straps to hold your feet But I cannot talk What am I?

Compound word, etched to observe: Mystical inscriptions, beckon magic’s glowing call. Ancient text and symbols, carved in tablets standing tall. A monumental mass, aimed at glory or the fall. First word carves a secret. Second shatters glassy walls.

Some say I'm a device while others takes me with some medicinal meal at a time

A flaky treat I am, Qui, Qui. If you eat me, you'll get hints of something buttery. Pull me apart and I flake. With coffee you can take. What am I?

I seem so small, yet hold it all, from keys to lipstick, great and small. I travel close through day and night, a world contained in stylish sight.