I dance upon a liquid stage, twisting under a bright embrace. I exist only as a reflection, enlightening that which once seemed dull. Without a sun over my head I have no halo, as I’m dead. What am I?

I can celebrate a winner, decorate a gift, or hold back your hair.

Sadly, it can't fry rice. It has cousins who are lice.

Latin that refers to earth forms the base of this words birth. Home to plants this dome contains an ecosystem that needs no rains.

Like little light left lacking lucidity.