Bloodflowers bloomed like wild roses in winding thornless vines that kissed the stars, shrugged off gradually by the metalbody of the Mothership, abandoned to bleed and die alone in the soft vacuum of space.
Spores wove a path back to the base of the ship and the very window that opened into The Gardens themselves.
The maze of hallways and halfway pipes inside the ship were covered in a coagulated and timered slime, and it was from this which all life spang forth, curling and winding into knots of writhing pain.
The fleshy plant grew a porous soul for the sole purpose of enhancing its own agony, every bloom opening a new, masochistic, puss-filled wound.
The Valdrott loved to walk through these bleeding halls, watching the painflowers spring to life.
Empathy so far from reach.