Long ago (by Wobbly Brook standards, that is – about eight breezes ago), Marnie was cursed by the Village Council of Cookery Accidents. She had boiled a dream instead of soup, and everyone in a four-table radius had floated slightly for a week.
To make amends, Marnie offered her head as a lid – quite literally – and promised to guard whatever was placed beneath it: secrets, soup, loose teeth, or sliced apples. In return, the Council painted her in parade colours and sent her marching into kitchens, hearts, and the occasional makeshift picnic.