LET'S START!

At long last, she's exactly where she belongs:
St Ludicrezia Mental Facility For the Criminally Loony and Terminally Nymphomanic!
Here she will get all the help she needs.

My, she is even dressed for the occasion! Her white uniform tucks her arms against her torso. So, she must resort to some acrobatic stunts just to get herself on her feet once again.
"You think this is funny? Well, let me tell you, my Bitchy Witch, you just sent mental health awareness back half a century! So you can well and truly go and FUCK OOooooo--"
The soothing ambient music from the curvy goth girl playing piano in the corner comes to an abrupt end, when her fingers fell down on the keys with a dramatic acoustic sting.

So, our Faux Genius finally noticed. She's far from the only guest in this asylum. They're all around her, their unblinking gaze locked on her with scolding intensity. They're all women, both big and small. The one thing they had in common was how gorgeous they are . And, of course, were here for peace and quiet.
They need a calm and safe space to recover. Nymphomania is no laughing matter. Sure, they look tame enough. Most of the time, anyhow. But they are constantly on the brink of yet another lustful frenzy. A single abrupt noise will suffice for their lecherous hunger to break loose.
Right now, their collective hunger converges at a single point on the Faux Genius. They're like a cats in heat gathered around a prize canary in a flimsy cage.

The Faux Genius clamps her mouth shut. Probably for the first time in her obnoxious life.
A wise decision indeed.
The situation deescalated. One by one the nymphos looked away. Even the ambient music resumed soon enough.
Well, well. Seems her stay here is already showing results. Very promising.

Now she has a moment to take in her environment.
It must be said that 'common' certainly isn't the most inappropriate term for this common room, though perhaps 'plain room' would've been a better fit. It's surprisingly small for a room meant to accomodate all the guests of the asylum, barely larger than a bedroom. Yet everything about the room is so pristine and dull that nothing could make it seem any less vast and empty.
The turqouise walls formed a perfectly square-shaped room. With no windows to speak of, it was illuminated by bright yet cool light shining from humming tubes in the ceiling. The ping-pong table in the center of the room appears to have remained dormant for so long that the memories of its purpose had been lost to time, instead housing a stack of open newspaper. A single locker stands tucked away in a corner, opposite to which a stocky goth-girl plays a heavy tune on an inoffensively copper-colored piano.

The rest of the patients roam the outskirts of the room like ghosts, staring blankly into empty space as they delight in the relaxing ambience.
Our bundled up heroine would do best to follow their example. But of course, she has no such intentions. Her eyes roam the walls for an exit. Eventually they land on a pair of double doors on the far walls. But as luck would have it, the vertical bar handles are connected by a chain and padlock. This passage is locked up tight.
The more logical recourse is to admit that I have her bested and surrender outright.

She shakes her head no. How predictably obstinate.
So, I suppose then she's content with remaining in my grasp indedinitely.
No? She shakes her head again! Don't tell me she's gonna find a way out?
She nods.

Ah. Perhaps I shouldn't expect anything but delusions from a madwoman in an asylum. But do go on. Whether there is an exit or not is up to me. But feel free to tire yourself out searching for it.
Go ahead.
Run along now.
Just try not to disrupt the other guests, all right?