For as long as Beetee could remember, there had always been a china doll in his mother's was a pale doll with brown hair that fell in pretty ringlets and a little red dress. He didn't know where it had come from, but it had always been around, when he was a child. Never, though, had Beetee ever picked it up and held it; too scared to break it.
Now and then, whilst he watched Wiress, she reminded him of that china doll. She was much the same, really. A little girl that had been picked up one day by the Capitol and ruthlessly dropped. She was a broken doll. The way she couldn't finish her sentences, that look in her eyes when something reminded her of her games. It was horrible how delicate it had made her. And there had been nothing Beetee could do to help.
All Beetee wanted to do was piece Wiress back together and keep her safe.
But even the most delicate of kisses wont put her back together again.