Morozko peered at it too.  Its surface was smooth as water, reflecting Anya's chubby face.  He picked it up. 

Instead of his visage in the mercury, he saw Anya giggling.  Morozko traced the gold filigree on the edge, his lips forming an O of surprise.

“It is enchanted?”  Morozko turned the mirror in his hands.  “I would expect no less from you, babushka.  Even your mirrors have devious uses.”

“Of course,” Baba Yaga clucked.  “This is so your wayward family can watch over Anya when she is off wandering like witches do.  I have a personal investment in her, so make sure you keep her safe, leshy who calls himself...