How I Married a Water Serpent Knowingly Because I Was Desperate for Wealth
Yeah, you read that right. I knowingly married a water serpent. Not by accident. Not by charm. Not by spell. I did it wide awake, heart pounding, eyes wide open—all because I was desperate for wealth.
Let me take you back.
A few years ago, I was at rock bottom. Broke. No job. No opportunities. I felt invisible. I’d scroll through my phone and see people my age doing big things—launching businesses, travelling, driving cars I couldn’t even afford to fuel in my dreams. Meanwhile, I was boiling water just to feel like I was cooking something.
One night, I walked down to the river near my village. I wasn’t going there for peace or scenery. I just needed to breathe. I sat there, empty. And then this old man showed up. I didn’t hear him approach. He just appeared, like the way your shadow shows up when the light shifts.
He looked me dead in the eye and said, “If you want real wealth, marry the river’s daughter.”
I laughed. Not the funny kind. The kind you do when you're halfway between madness and misery.
Weeks passed. Things got worse. People stopped picking my calls. I was starting to feel like a ghost. And then those words hit me again—marry the river’s daughter.
So I went back.
This time, I was ready. I stood by the water and said out loud, “I accept.”
The river stirred. Not like waves. Like something alive was underneath. Then she came—tall, skin glowing like wet stone, eyes deep and dark like the night ocean. Half woman, half serpent. No mouth movement, but her words filled my head.
“You know what I am. And you know what you want.”
I nodded. I was done pretending to be normal. Done trying to survive. I wanted wealth, and I was willing to pay whatever price came with it.
We made the pact.
After that, things changed—fast. Money started flowing. Deals came out of nowhere. People started liking me, trusting me, helping me. My whole energy shifted. I felt untouchable.
But, of course… everything comes with terms.
Rule number one: No flirting. No dating. No sex with anyone else.
She’s jealous. Extremely jealous. And she watches. I don’t know how, but she knows when I even think something I shouldn’t. Every woman I try to look at now? Her face turns into a monkey. I’m not even joking. Imagine trying to flirt and suddenly the person in front of you looks like a wild baboon. It kills the vibe instantly.
Rule number two: We are still intimate—but only in dreams.
Some nights, she comes to me. In my sleep. It feels real. Like, real real. I wake up sweaty, body shaking, sometimes smiling, sometimes terrified. The strangest part? My room always smells like tin fish afterwards. Not perfume. Not roses. Just strong, salty fish, like something crawled in and died.
I know how insane it sounds. But this is my life now.
Another thing? I’ve become… isolated. I don’t enjoy company. Conversations feel flat. People bore me. Their problems sound small. Their jokes don’t land. I go to gatherings and feel like I’m in a room full of echoes. Nobody really feels alive anymore—except her.
I don't have friends. I don’t date. I just exist, move money around, grow businesses, and go back home.
Some days I wonder if I sold my soul. But then I remember how hungry I was. How hopeless. And I remind myself—I chose this.
This is not a fairytale. I’m not writing this for clout. I’m writing it because not every blessing is innocent. Not every shortcut is clean. And not every partner wears a veil and heels.
Sometimes, they slither up from the water—and give you everything you asked for.
Just make sure you’re ready to live with what comes next.
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