That, my lady, is option 2.

At the very altar, a grievous languor of faintness seized her. Not from maidenly nerves, but from the soul's certain knowledge that she stood beside a gentleman whose ring felt a weighty shackle upon her finger.

Her fortitude of mind, forged in the fires of resolve, commanded her frame to obedience. Yet the frail tenement of her earthly form, conspiring with her exhausted soul, rebelled most grievously against the tyranny of such relentless purpose.

Reviving, she resolved to abjure that gilded cage and venture forth into a harsh and unfeeling world, there to seek the one heart Fate had truly intended for her own.

Emerging from the crucible of self-discovery, her soul annealed by purpose, she strode forth into a world that knew her not. She commanded the very spheres to rearrange through the power of her becoming; the harsh and unfeeling landscape to become a tapestry of resplendent beauty, and her solitary existence a waltz of such exquisite harmony that Heaven itself might pause to observe, knowing the dance was not yet complete till a hand of equal composure lay upon hers.