Hecate Rex: "The Crone". Old age is supposed to be when we reach the pinnacle of life, when we awaken to some sort of ultimate wisdom. How cruel it would seem, then, to have reached one's golden years, only to become the object of ridicule, pity, or worse yet, to have become nothing more than a statistical drain on the healthcare system.
But Hecate is not the stereotypical "little old lady" drag. Nor is she a wicked old witch. She is the Off-White Queen, with a crown made from the vertebrae of rabbits.
She is withered, dried-up, no longer a conduit of energy. She is staid, bound, encaged and inaccessible. She is childlike in some ways, asexual, non-threatening, untouchable, thin-skinned and yet mysteriously proud.
This Virgin Queen wears an Elizabthan farthingale, a cage for her lower half. (Being postmenopausal, anything below her waist is not popularly acknowledged.)
She is no longer the penultimate symbol of so-called female power, embodied for example, in the Minoan snake goddess.