I'VE BEEN HELPING RICH MEN GET RID OF THE CURSE THEY GOT FROM SLEEPING WITH THE SAME WOMAN WHO TURNS INTO A HUGE LIZZARD AND STEAL THEIR GOOD FATES

 I'VE BEEN HELPING RICH MEN GET RID OF THE CURSE THEY GOT FROM SLEEPING WITH THE SAME WOMAN WHO TURNS INTO A HUGE LIZZARD AND STEAL THEIR GOOD FATES

I am a sangoma. People come to me when the ordinary threads of life snap — when businesses fail, when marriages collapse, when luck evaporates like morning mist. Over the years a pattern has returned to my hut again and again: men, proud and prosperous, stumbling through my door hollow-eyed, carrying the same wound. Each of them tells the same story in different words, and all of them point to one woman.

She is beautiful in a way that makes people forget to breathe. Not the kind of beauty that ages slowly; hers is sharp and immediate. Men talk about her voice first, the slow laugh that seems to promise everything. Then they talk about the night — the warm bed, the candles, the ease. They go the next morning with a private smile, thinking they have been lucky. They do not know they have been chosen.

Afterwards, their fortunes unthread. Deals fall through. Banks call. Investments turn to paper. Illness visits strange places. Wives leave. Friends drift away. It is never instant — misfortune comes like a slow leak, steady and stealthy. Only when the man’s life is near empty does he find himself at my fire, ashamed and searching for answers.

I have seen many such men. Some are young business owners who once had contracts on every wall of their office. Some are grandfathers with inherited farms. Some are humble men who had a streak of good luck and spent it carelessly. They arrive with different names, but when I ask about the woman, their eyes tell the same truth. They say they slept with a beauty who became more than human in the night — her skin changing, her shape shifting, like scale and shadow. They say she did not bite or cut, but after her touch their luck began to leak out of them into the world.

I have performed rites, trimmed bones, read the signs, and called ancestors. The stories the men bring point to an old trade — something given for beauty and power in exchange for another’s fortune. I have heard whispers of rituals by old women who barter with forces that walk at the edge of sight. The price is never paid in coins. It is paid in blessing. The woman takes what she needs in secret and rises while her lovers fall.

The work of a sangoma is to restore balance. When a man first comes to me, he wants his luck back like a lost wallet. But luck is not an object; it is a weave of ancestors, choices, and respect. Sometimes I can help: cleanse the house, break small knots, call the ancestors to bless a new path. I teach men to give back — to feed the spirits they ignored, to make apology where there was arrogance, to stop chasing woman-made legends. These acts can mend a thread or two.

But there are limits. Power taken by force from another is tangled with another being’s intent. I have seen men who did everything I asked and still lost more. I have seen a man’s business die slowly despite herbs, despite prayers. And I have watched the woman move into a bigger house, buy more trinkets, and walk the streets with that same careless smile. People gossip she is just lucky. I know better.

If you are a man who thinks a woman’s beauty is the only treasure you need, listen. Do not mistake appetite for blessing. If you are a family member watching someone you love change — if money vanishes without reason, if illness and accident arrive in strange waves — come and speak. Do not let pride keep you silent. We sangomas do not judge only; we listen. We take stories into the fire and see what the ancestors show.

My final warning is simple and old as the hills: some beauty hides teeth not meant for kissing. Some charm is a doorway to theft. In the dark markets of the heart, always ask who is paying and what they will take. Bless the people you love, honor the spirits you owe, and carry caution with desire. I have seen too many good men dragged into emptiness because they mistook hunger for love.

I tell this not to scare you, but to arm you. The world is full of masks. Learn to see the face beneath. The ancestors taught me to protect life, not to shame it. If she comes to your town, and you feel that strange pull, remember the men who came to my hut with empty hands and broken hope. Remember to come back to your people, to your elders, and to your own sense of what is right.

Here’s a chilling draft for your blogpost — written like a mysterious confession mixed with folklore:

The Woman Sleeps With Men to Steal Their Luck

There are women whose beauty is dangerous, not because of what you see on the outside, but because of what hides behind their charm. I am writing this because people need to know that not every beautiful face you meet is a blessing. Some are traps.

There is a woman in our city whose presence turns heads everywhere she goes. Her beauty is magnetic, her laughter intoxicating, her eyes always fixed like she already knows the secrets of your soul. She doesn’t chase men—men chase her, and she chooses carefully. She prefers those who are wealthy, successful, and full of good fortune.

But here’s the part no one sees. When she finally lures a man into her bed, something terrifying happens. In the middle of intimacy, her skin begins to shift. Her body stretches, her nails harden, and her smooth skin grows rough. Before the man realizes it, the beautiful woman he desired turns into a massive lizard, her eyes glowing with hunger.

She does not kill them physically. Instead, she feeds on something deeper—luck. The very blessing that made them rich, respected, and admired begins to drain away. Slowly, after that night, everything in the man’s life starts collapsing. Businesses fail, money disappears, contracts get canceled, and sickness comes uninvited. His life crumbles into dust.

Meanwhile, her life rises. Suddenly, she moves into a bigger house, buys new cars, and dresses in expensive clothes. People think she’s just ambitious, or perhaps she met the right man who spoils her. But the truth is darker: she’s living on stolen fortune.

They say the lizard woman was given this power through an old ritual, a trade she made with forces that walk in shadows. And now, each man who falls for her beauty unknowingly signs his own destruction.

So, if you ever meet a woman too beautiful, too mysterious, and everything in you screams both desire and fear—listen to the fear. Not every flower is meant to be touched. Some bloom in darkness, waiting only to devour.