In The Ordinary Bruja, there are monsters on the hill—but there are also monsters in the mirror. That’s where the Three Girlies come in.

At first glance, Delgada, Sabia, and Blanca might read as your standard mean girls, but dig deeper and you’ll realize they’re not just tormentors—they’re reflections of Marisol’s deepest wounds. Each one embodies a piece of her fractured self-image, making their presence not just painful, but profoundly personal.

✖ Delgada: The Body Mirror

Delgada’s very name is a weapon—Spanish for slim. She’s all the things society praises in a Latine girl: sleek, curated, “put together.” Marisol, by contrast, carries the weight—literally and emotionally—of growing up in a body that didn’t feel worthy. Delgada doesn’t have to say anything cruel; her existence is the standard Marisol was taught to fail. The shame Marisol feels in her body isn’t just about looks. It’s about worth. And Delgada makes that shame visible.

✖ Sabia: The Accomplishment Mirror

Sabia, the overachiever, is the girl with the college degree, the plan, the ambition—and she never lets anyone forget it. Marisol dropped out. And even if she tells herself that school wasn’t for her, there’s a voice—Sabia’s voice—that whispers you couldn’t finish. It’s not about the diploma. It’s about the perceived failure. Sabia weaponizes success the way society does: by using it to invalidate those still figuring things out.

✖ Blanca: The Identity Mirror

Blanca cuts the deepest. She’s fluent, Catholic, and “traditionally Latina.” She posts in Spanish, quotes her abuela, and side-eyes anything that doesn’t fit into her narrow cultural checklist. Marisol? She stumbles over Spanish. She’s spiritual, not religious. And she’s still reclaiming the heritage she was disconnected from. Blanca is the voice that says, you’re not really one of us. That wound—of feeling “not enough” as a Dominican or a Latina—is Marisol’s most tender one.

What makes the Three Girlies dangerous isn’t just what they say or do—it’s that they echo the lies Marisol tells herself.

That’s the real horror.
That’s the real haunting.
Not the whispers from the hill, but the whispers within.

Their cruelty is a reflection of how girlhood so often becomes a performance—of beauty, achievement, identity. Of what’s acceptable. And for those of us who don’t fit the mold, that performance becomes a punishment.

But The Ordinary Bruja isn’t just about pain. It’s about reclaiming power. Marisol’s journey is one of looking those mirrors in the face and saying, No más.

She doesn’t need to become Delgada, Sabia, or Blanca.

She just needs to become Marisol—fully, fiercely, and finally.